ROLLERCOASTER
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Something Changed
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Four
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'I have news.'
Tasha looked up from her lonely bed. 'Good or bad?'
'You're to have another visitor.'
'That's bad.'
'It's Worf.'
Tasha smiled through her medicated daze. 'That's good.'
Picard leaned against the door. 'He feels we'd be safer in Klingon space with a representative of the Empire on board.'
'I'll just be glad to see someone who can accept that I went off on a mission and got injured in the line of duty without berating me for it.'
Picard just nodded, silently.
'I know, I know,' Tasha sighed. 'There's a big difference between going on a covert mission and completely dropping out of communication for the best part of a year. But I had to stay, Jean-Luc. For Nik and Nadia's sake.'
'What do you mean?'
'It was the same situation that it had been on Turkana – almost exactly the same, that's why they contacted me. Starfleet had lost seven crewmen on the Pakir Project and needed people to sneak in and get them back before the Crime lords in charge took them hostage for weaponry, and without the Ferengi noticing – the Project is technically in their territory these days.'
'Our successful mission on Turkana IV would have made you the prime candidate to lead the mission,' Picard added.
'Turkana wasn't a success,' Tasha muttered. 'Sure, we got our guys out, but then we were gone – so disgusted with Ishara's betrayal that we didn't stop to think about all the innocent people stuck in the middle of that turf war. We could have offered sanctuary to the families and children there, but we didn't. We left them all to rot for another decade, and by the time they finally got out an official cry for help, there was nothing left to do for them but give homes to war-poisoned orphans and wait for them to die.'
'You know,' Picard interjected, 'less than an hour ago, your husband said almost the exact same thing to me about that mission.'
'Me and Data actually agree on something?' Tasha snorted a laugh. 'Wow. That hasn't happened for a long time. Well, maybe if he'd seen the Pakir Project he'd have understood why I stayed behind. It was the same thing – the same situation, warring factions, gradually escalating their weaponry… I felt I'd been given a second chance to do what we should have done in Turkana. There was this little group that helped us evacuate the crewmen – they'd been helping civilians escape the Project for a couple of years, but they needed help getting more people away from there. I had to help them. Those Crime lords were using people as commodities – little kids in slave labour, women being bought and sold like meat, and the weapons they were using were already beginning to turn the atmosphere toxic. I couldn't just go back to running discussion groups and taking Nik to piano classes and leave them all there. They needed me!'
'I don't doubt that,' Picard replied, 'and I admire your motives, Tasha. But I believe a lot of the hostility you're facing now is because your friends don't think you realise how much Data and Nikolai needed you too.'
'Nik doesn't need me,' Tasha sighed. 'And not just 'cause he's growing up. I was never much of a parent to Nik. Not like Data is – fatherhood would be in his genes, if he had any. I figured, as long as Nik had Data to look after him, he'd do just fine without me.'
'And what about your husband?' Picard urged. 'He needs you. He cares for you, desperately.'
Tasha nodded, sadly. 'Remember those first few years aboard the Enterprise? Before he and I got married – before he even installed that damn emotion chip?'
'Remember it?' Picard replied, 'I keep going there!'
'He wasn't desperate then, was he?' Tasha continued. 'He wasn't emotionally dependant. He wasn't afraid.'
'He's lost a lot of loved ones…'
'It wasn't his daughters that did that to him,' Tasha added over Picard, 'it was me. This is all my fault.'
Picard rubbed his face. 'Not you, as well…'
'I pull him close, demand his affection, then when I get it, I panic and push him away again. I've been doing it for decades, since we first met. It was me who wanted to get married, me who wanted to adopt Nik and Nadia… and he always says he did it for himself, but he knew when he installed that emotion chip how much I wanted him to do it – how much I wanted him to be able to love me. And then I decided that that love was too strong, too possessive – and I ran away from it.' Tasha paused. 'I didn't just stay on the Pakir Project for the good of those colonists. I was running away. I was reacting to his constant fretting by throwing myself into as much danger as possible – how passive-aggressive that?'
Tasha paused again. Unsure as to whether her question had been rhetorical or not, Picard waited quietly for her to continue.
'You know what my first thought was, after that rocket attack?' Tasha asked. 'Well, I mean, my first thought was "ow, my leg", but after that – straight after that, I said to myself "wow – Data's gonna flip".'
'Your injury brings home to him how easily we're damaged,' Picard replied, 'how easily we can be killed. The same must go for Nikolai's illnesses. It must be terrifying for him to love creatures that are so comparatively fragile as much as he does.'
'And I feed that fear – after he's lost so much already – by walking out, cutting contact… finding yet another war to fight, at my age… just another Turkanan soldier, always looking for a war.' She paused. 'Data was right about me. I'm the one who's turned him into that shrunken, frightened little person. I'm no good for him. I never have been.'
'Should you really be telling me all of this?'
Tasha smiled, drunkenly. 'Forgive me. These painkillers are making me much more candid than usual…'
'I mean,' clarified Picard, 'shouldn't you be telling all of this to your husband? Did you know, he's back there thinking up reasons why all of this is his fault?'
'His fault? But that's…'
'Crazy,' interrupted a male voice from behind Picard. 'They've all gone completely crazy, haven't they?'
Picard closed his eyes with a weary sigh of annoyance at hearing the voice. When he opened his eyes again, Tasha and the medical bay were gone. Q wandered around in front of him with a shrug.
'Of course, I always thought you people were more than a little unbalanced to begin with – throwing yourselves around space in that little tin can; always prodding at things you don't even begin to understand; not to mention your unwavering belief that the relationships you forged then would be able to last until the end of your lives.'
'What are you trying to prove, Q?'
'I have nothing to prove, Mon Capitan. I am not the childless, unmarried man who has surrounded himself with orphans, foundlings and a veritable posse of daddy issues on legs.' Q folded his arms and gave Picard a knowing smirk. 'You thought you'd managed to set yourself up as Patriarch to a nice little surrogate family there, didn't you?'
'I did no such thing. I selected the crew that I did because…'
'It doesn't last, you know,' interrupted the Immortal. 'Friendships – families, even… they always come apart, given sufficient time. Love is temporary between you people, despite your constant blind protestations that it's the one thing that truly can last forever. Do you realise that now, Jean-Luc?'
'Is that what all of this is really about?' Picard asked. 'All this trouble just to belittle the bonds that my crew have forged with myself and each other?'
'No,' replied Q in an indifferent tone. 'That was just an extra little observation – a footnote, if you will – in the account of your miserable, abject failure.'
'This "trial" of yours,' Picard recalled, wearily.
Q smiled. 'A simple trial? Tush pish, Jean-Luc – that's been going on for years, and you haven't even noticed it. No, this particular failure is all down to you, I'm afraid.'
'What do you mean?'
'What I said a moment ago – about prodding at things you don't comprehend, like the barely evolved apes that you are… you were bound to destroy something sooner or later – who would have thought that it would be your own pathetic species that would cease to be as a result of your ham-fisted meddling?'
'I don't understand.'
'No,' replied Q. 'That's the problem. You never do.'
-x-
'…now?'
Picard blinked, and rubbed his eyes. 'Beg pardon?'
Worf's attempt at a level tone did nothing to mask his impatience. 'What do you believe should be our next course of action, following this latest setback?'
'Setback, Lieutenant?'
'Governor,' corrected Governor Worf.
'Governor…' Picard rubbed his eyes again. The Klingon in front of him was no longer the young Officer that he had seen only moments ago, but an ageing statesman. 'Of course. You said you would be joining us.'
'I have been aboard the Pasteur for hours now,' Worf frowned. 'You greeted my arrival.'
'I was in the past again,' Picard muttered. 'And… and somewhere else, too.' He paused. 'Q. Q was with me.'
'Q?' A weary sigh of annoyance went around the Pasteur's Bridge from the members of his former crew.
'I thought we'd seen the back of him,' Geordi grumbled. 'What does he want this time?'
'Largely, it seemed he just wanted to hurl insults at me and talk himself round in circles…'
'Same old Q,' Beverly said with a joyless smile.
'But there was something that he said,' Picard continued, 'something about the destruction of my species… I have a horrible feeling that he might be trying to help us again.'
'Uh-oh,' added Geordi.
'Did he provide any information as to how this destruction may occur, or how it might be prevented?' Data asked.
'I'm afraid that would prove a little too helpful,' Picard replied. 'This is Q we're talking about, after all. No, he was as opaque as ever. But I believe that it's him who's been making me flit between different points in my life. I assume that this is how he intends to be of any assistance.' Picard paused again, to think. 'The anomaly in the Devron System remains the constant in every timeline. We've already seen it, in the past. Perhaps that will give us the answers to…' he trailed off, noticing the expressions on the faces of his old crew. 'What?'
'We have been at the co ordinates you supplied at the Devron system for ten minutes now,' explained Data. 'There is nothing there.'
'Don't you remember?' added Beverly.
'What?' Picard asked, flatly. He found the nearest monitor to hand, and stared at it. There was nothing to be seen but black space. A sensation of panic began to rise – there had been something there – a vast anomaly – there was no way that it could have healed itself over a mere few decades. If anything, it should have been even bigger… if, that was, it was real. What if he hadn't been in the past? What if that, and the anomaly, and the appearance of Q, had all just been in his mind? What if he had brought all these people into danger over nothing but the fevered hallucinations of a mad old man?
'This doesn't make any sense…'
'We could remain here and investigate further,' suggested Data, 'although the wisdom of such an action would be highly questionable.'
'My presence aboard notwithstanding,' Worf added, 'we are still in a Federation ship, in Klingon space without permission. I would recommend that we rectify that state of affairs as soon as possible.'
Picard turned to his ex wife. 'It's your ship, Beverly…'
'It's your mission, Jean-Luc, and your call.'
Picard gazed at his former crew. They still trusted him with their lives. Even with his sickness, even though his thoughts were addled and he had dragged them all to locate an anomaly that wasn't there, they still trusted him to make the best decision. Perhaps relations between his old friends weren't as bad as he'd thought after all. Perhaps…
'Captain,' barked the Pasteur's Tactical Officer, 'two Klingon ships just uncloaked.'
Beverly turned to her Officer, her eyes wide with sudden alarm. 'Hail them. Maybe Worf can…'
'They're firing up their torpedoes…'
'Worf!' Beverly seated herself tensely in her Captain's chair. 'Is there anything you can…'
One of the Klingon ships fired.
If the Tactical Officer had had anything else to add, the computer bank that exploded into her chest as a result of the direct hit ensured that she would say no more, ever again. The Officer fell backwards and landed in a bedraggled heap at Picard's feet.
'Susan,' breathed Beverly, gazing at her fallen Officer in sorrow.
Then Picard saw his former wife do something he'd never witnessed her do before – within a heartbeat, she shook off her shock and grief – pushed it down inside of her to allow out at a more convenient time, and took stern command again. He'd had to do the same thing countless times before himself as a Captain.
'I need someone on Tactical, this instant,' Beverly ordered. She stopped Worf before he'd managed to get to his feet. 'Worf, I need you to keep trying to get through to those ships. Call them off!'
Worf turned back to his communication attempts. 'They are not responding…'
The second ship fired, rocking the Pasteur severely.
'I need someone on Tactical, now!'
A young Vulcan Science Officer stepped wordlessly up to the half burnt-out Tactical console.
'Damage report, Lieutenant?' Beverly called.
The Vulcan stared at the console. 'One moment, Captain. I have never been stationed at this post before. I must familiarise myself with…'
They were hit again. The Pasteur lurched wildly, causing Picard to cling to a chair in order to stay upright. There was a bang behind him. He turned his head to see the Turbolift doors opening, considerably less smoothly than they should. Within the Turbolift was Tasha Yar, propping herself up against the wall and with a crutch in each hand.
'I think somebody's firing at us,' shouted the invalid from the Turbolift.
'You should be in bed,' Beverly called back to her.
With difficulty, Tasha started manoeuvring herself onto the Bridge on her crutches. 'And die in a lonely room, sitting on my derriere? I'll pass, thanks. Hi, Worf.'
Worf shot a glance at Beverly. 'Is she drunk?'
'After a fashion.'
'I'm legless!' Tasha beamed, delighted at her own joke.
'That colloquialism is specific to the British Isles,' muttered Data. 'Nobody else will understand the reference. Besides which…'
'Not really the time, Data,' interrupted Geordi as they were hit for a third time.
'Why do you have a Science Officer at Tactical?' Tasha asked.
'Lieutenant Vasquez was killed at her post,' explained the Vulcan. 'There were no other Tactical Officers available…'
'Well, there is now,' Tasha replied, hobbling over to Tactical.
'Tasha,' cried Beverly, 'you're out of your mind!'
'Pain meds or no pain meds,' Tasha replied, 'the chips are down and the Klingons are pissed – do you really want some spore-analysing Vulcan pressing the buttons that make things go Kablooey, or the best damn Tactical Officer you've ever served with – no offence, Worf.'
Tasha didn't wait for a reply from either Beverly or Worf, but barged the Vulcan out of the way with one of her crutches. 'Be a doll and help me keep upright,' she muttered to the deposed Science Officer, 'honestly - the one post that doesn't have a chair…' She prodded at what remained of the console. 'Oh, dear.'
'What's the damage?'
'Everybody, grab a rubber band,' announced Tasha.
'What do you…'
'Well, with the weapons array on this ship, we might as well just flick balled-up paper at the Klingons.'
'What about the shields?' Beverly asked. 'We'd better divert all the power we can to strengthening them before…'
'What do you think it is I'm already doing?' Tasha interrupted, still jabbing at the console.
'Well, you'd better do it fast,' Geordi added, 'they're about to fire again…'
They were hit once more. The Pasteur rocked violently.
'Did it work?' Beverly asked, looking up at Tasha.
'Well,' Tasha slurred, 'we're still alive, so yes.'
'How many more hits can they take now that you've strengthened them?'
Tasha looked down at her monitor. 'None.'
'That's it?' Geordi asked.
Tasha shrugged. 'This ship's just not built for fighting. And we can't run – they knocked out our warp power in the first hit.'
Data turned around to face her. 'All of that, just to buy us all a few more seconds?'
Tasha looked back at her husband, suddenly serious. 'Maybe a few more seconds is all we really need…'
'Another ship's decloaking,' interrupted Geordi, urgently.
'Another?' Hopeless as her situation was, Beverly managed a small, exasperated smile in Picard's direction. 'They aren't taking any chances, are they?'
And, as hopeless as his situation was, Picard couldn't help but draw some comfort – some joy - from his ex wife's reaction. Years ago, he had believed that if that smile was the last thing he ever saw, he could have died a happy man. Well, perhaps that was what was about to happen. If he was to perish now, at least it was a death up amongst the stars, at the side of the woman he'd loved so dearly, with his old friends around him. And the Klingons sending three ships to destroy their one… well, it was ludicrous, but at least it was impressive. He would go out with a bang, rather than fading away.
'Heading straight towards us,' Geordi continued. He broke off suddenly, surprised, then looked up at his friends, a wide grin spreading over his face. 'Well, well, well. Now there's an old girl I never thought I'd see again.'
Beverly's eyes widened as she guessed at Geordi's meaning. 'Not the Enterprise…?'
Geordi put the vessel in question on screen.
There she was – the other love of Picard's life, speeding towards the attacking Klingon ships with phasers blazing.
'Will Riker,' Picard smiled. 'He followed us. Perhaps the maverick side to him is still alive after all.'
There was an explosion on the screen – the Enterprise had attacked the Klingons so furiously that one had been destroyed. The second was quick to turn tail.
'Good old Will,' Tasha beamed, giddily.
'Good old Will,' echoed Worf with an insincere hollowness and a scowl so deep that bats could probably nest in it.
'Don't start celebrating yet,' added Geordi as he pulled up a damage report, 'the warp core wasn't just put offline by that attack – it's breaching as we speak.'
'Warp core breach…' repeated Picard, faintly.
The thought struck him – he should have witnessed the anomaly growing through time, but instead, it seemed, it was shrinking. It had been smaller seven years after Farpoint, and now it had either vanished entirely, or was so microscopic that it couldn't be detected. What if it wasn't shrinking so much as growing backwards? After all, if time was no longer running in a single straight line for him, who was to say that time was not running backwards for this anomaly? What if their warp core breach was what caused the creation of the anomaly in the first place?
Riker's face suddenly filled the screen; as irritable as it had appeared when they'd spoken in Cambridge.
'Save your thanks for later,' the Admiral barked. 'Your warp core's in breach. We're beaming you out of there.'
'Wait…' began Picard.
But Riker was no longer on the Pasteur's screen. More to the point, Picard was no longer on the Pasteur. He was on the bridge of the Enterprise. For a heartbeat, he wondered if he was back in time again – the Captain once more. But, no. He was still an elderly civilian. He had merely been beamed onto his old ship – straight onto the bridge so that his old Number One could do what he'd probably have done if he were still in command; namely, give the senile old man who had just endangered a Starfleet vessel and its crew, not to mention the uneasy peace between the Federation and the Klingons on a hunch a piece of his mind.
'Ambassador,' greeted the Admiral in a tone about as far from one of welcome as Picard could imagine. Riker cast a disapproving eye over his disobedient former crewmates, but blinked in surprise when he saw Tasha, still propping herself up against the young Vulcan officer. 'Tasha! You were M.I.A!'
'Well,' Tasha replied, 'I guess I'm F.I.A. now. Most of me, anyway.'
Riker sucked through his teeth at the state of Tasha's leg. 'So I see.' He nodded at Data. 'And you found her before I did, Data. Didn't I tell you you'd be the first to know?'
'I was not the first to know,' Data replied with a dark glance towards Tasha and Beverly, 'I merely stumbled upon her whereabouts before you discovered them, Admiral. Which says little for how thorough your search for her was…'
But Riker had already turned his attention on to Worf. 'And Governor Worf. How kind of you to accompany your former Captain into a hornet's nest without so much as a Klingon escort. I can't believe you'd be arrogant enough to believe that the word of a Governor of some far-flung outpost of the Empire could be enough to get a Starfleet vessel safely through Klingon space…'
'How kind of you to refuse any assistance to your former Captain, forcing him to seek more perilous alternatives,' Worf retorted. 'You dare accuse me of arrogance, when…'
'In case it's escaped you gentlemen's attention,' Beverly interrupted, 'my ship is still imminently about to explode.'
'We're at a safe distance,' Riker assured her, 'and we've beamed everybody who was on board onto the Enterprise. Now, unless you've got any potted plants you want us to rescue…'
The Pasteur exploded.
'Oh, no,' sighed Picard.
Beverly put a hand on his shoulder. 'Thank you for your sympathy, Jean-Luc. She was a good little ship…'
'It's not that,' Picard replied. 'I think we might have just started something terrible. I think this might be what eventually ends us all.'
