Author's Note: My sincere apologies for the second delay with this update.
This is the final chapter. It is followed by a short epilogue.
Thank you for your ongoing support on this story (and series).
"It's not really your colour, cupcake," Lore said, eying Tasha's dress.
Her face soured.
Lore was about to make a smart remark when everything froze.
All of sudden, Tasha and Geordi disappeared. Lore stumbled forward at the unexpected change in weight in his balance.
A slow clap followed.
Lore glanced up and scowled.
"Dramatic opening shot," Q teased.
"You ordered me to find them!" Lore fumed.
Lore ran one trembling hand back through his hair. He tugged at his collar to loosen his shirt.
"Were you helping them escape all day?" Lore roared.
"No actually," Q said.
He momentarily vanished before appearing again – this time perched on the table.
"That was all their own doing, I'm afraid," Q said.
He jumped off the table and started to circle Lore.
"You think yourself so different from them. You think your mind, your body represent synthetic perfection," Q said.
He chuckled.
"But it was still built by an organic being," Q said, twisting the knife. "You were made in his image."
Q could sense he had touched a nerve.
"Oh, I don't blame you," Q said. "After all, you're merely the prototype."
Lore snapped.
He shoved Q up against the wall.
"I'm perfect! I was the perfect one. I'm not a prototype! He's a knockoff!" Lore shrieked.
His fingers closed around Q's throat as the allegedly omnipotent being sputtered as gasped. Lore seethed with anger. His chest heaved.
Lore's entire neural net surged with delight as he watched Q's eyes bulge.
Lore gritted his teeth and finished the job.
Q fell to the ground unceremoniously and did not get back up.
Lore smoothed his hair. His face twitched twice.
Then he grinned and adjusted his tie before turning for the door.
Lore was nearly there when Q reappeared in front of him.
"I haven't had that much fun in ages! Can we do that again?" Q asked.
Lore glared as Q squeezed his bicep.
"So little and yet so beefy," Q teased.
"Where are they?" Lore demanded.
Q groaned and rolled his eyes. He pushed past Lore and made a beeline for the kitchenette.
Lore waited, tapping his foot impatiently, as Q putzed about – digging through the cupboard to find two champagne flutes, filling a bucket of ice, and finally rummaging around for a clean towel.
Q caught sight of Lore and clucked his tongue.
"Don't look so glum," Q said, chastising him.
There was an audible 'pop.'
"Tonight, we celebrate!" Q said as he turned around.
The champagne had bubbled over upon being opened. Q didn't mind as he took his sweet time filling the glasses.
"This is the final act," Q announced as he handed Lore a glass. "And when an act it shall be!"
Lore refused.
Q pouted.
"Where are they?" Lore repeated.
Q smirked as he sat back against the table. He swirled the contents of his glass just to make Lore wait.
"I guess you could say… they're on ice."
Captain Picard was in the entrance hall. It was dark, but there was just enough light to make out the portrait that hung above.
He tossed the cricket ball he'd snagged from Wesley back and forth between his hands as he studied her portrait.
From her place high above the entrance, Lady Moran saw all the comings and goings.
"What secrets you must know," Picard mused aloud.
According to the information they'd uncovered, Lady Moran had taken the secret of the Moran treasure to her grave.
But they had already turned both the tomb and the entrance hall inside out.
The clues had also said that Lady Moran entrusted the 'key' to the mystery with Worf's character – Major Rupert Hawke.
Only Worf had received no object. He had no instructions.
The team had searched Worf's quarters and all the items contained in the mysterious package he'd received along with his invitation and character card.
Hell, they had no inkling of what that might be.
"Captain Picard?"
It was Wesley Crusher.
He had awoken from a brief nap and needed to stretch his legs. The library was a flurry of activity. Wesley had dozed off and missed the big reveal.
So, he made himself scarce.
"Forgive me, I borrowed this," Picard said as he tossed the cricket ball back to Wes.
Wes caught it easily enough.
"That's alright, Captain," Wesley replied.
Captain Picard watched with great intensity as Wesley threw the ball in the air and caught it with his other hand.
Wesley noticed the Captain's gaze.
He stood motionless, utterly transfixed on the trinket.
"Captain?" Wesley prompted.
"It couldn't be," Picard whispered as he eyed Wesley. "Not that simple."
Unless.
"Close personal friend. Bodyguard."
Jean-Luc was muttering to himself.
"Entrusted with the key."
Captain Picard glanced up at the portrait of Lady Moran that hung above him. Then he turned back to Wesley.
"I need to borrow that ball," Picard said.
"The last Duke Finley was killed in the Great War," Data explained.
He picked up the book and read aloud the accompanying biography.
"Died in defence of the realm in the Somme. November 1916," Data announced.
The group fell silent as Data placed the book back down on the surface of the table.
Beverly was the first to catch on.
"Oh."
"Hmmm," Worf remarked as he raised a lone eyebrow.
Guinan tapped her chin as she mulled over this information.
Miles and Command Riker frowned at one another – neither understood what seemed obvious to everyone else in the room.
Commander Riker started to count on his fingers.
"Oh!" he gasped.
Suddenly, a broad smile broke out on his face.
"Oh," he added, wiggling his eyebrows in a cheeky manner.
Once again, Miles was left in the dark.
"Will somebody please just tell me what's going on?" Miles asked, exasperated.
"The date of the late Duke Finley's death precludes him from fathering the child," Data clarified.
It took a moment for Miles to comprehend. He put one finger, his mouth moved as he silently counted.
"You mean that-"
"It would seem the child Miss Marlowe carries is not the only seed Lord Moran planted," Guinan said.
"Captain? What are you doing?" Wesley asked.
Jean-Luc had started to strip away the leather cover on the cricket ball. He tore at the stitching, keen to uncover what lay beneath.
"I think this is the clue we have been missing," Picard explained.
Picard managed to get his fingernail under the seam and tore away the remains of the leather.
"Ah ha!" he cried triumphantly.
Jean-Luc held the ball out for Wesley to examine.
"You see, an ordinary cricket ball would contain cork inside," Picard explained.
But rather than cork, they found a golden orb.
Picard turned and held it up in front of the portrait.
It was an exact match.
"Whoa," Wesley remarked in awe.
Captain Picard turned it over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship.
"Hey, there's something written on here," Wesley said.
It was difficult to see in such low lighting. But there on the surface of the gold, Jean-Luc could just make out an inscription.
"You have better eyes," Picard said, handing the orb back to Wesley.
Wes turned it over in hand. The inscription ran the length around the orb.
"Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt the sun doth move," Wesley began to read as he twisted the orb to follow the verse.
"Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love," Picard finished from memory.
He stared up at the woman in the portrait.
"Captain?" Wesley prompted.
"Shakespeare. Hamlet," Picard explained.
It seemed only fitting that Q would include more references to the Bard in his mystery. They shared that connection (in spite of the fact it ruffled Picard's feathers).
"So, it means she loved you? Like… a lot?" Wesley asked.
"That's one interpretation," Picard acknowledged.
Jean-Luc resigned himself that he would never fully understand the relationship between his character and that of the late Lady Moran.
He chuckled to himself.
Beverly would get a kick if she knew he had delved so deep into the role.
"There are some that believe the poem is, in fact, the opposite. You see, in the era when this was penned, doubt and suspect were synonymous with one another," Picard explained. "Some interpretations hold that it is Hamlet's way of warning Ophelia that he could never love her."
A small click caught the Captain's ear.
There was a hinge on the orb. It was nearly invisible.
Leave it to young Mr Crusher to find out just how it worked.
"There's something in here," Wesley said.
He handed a carefully folded wad of paper to Captain Picard.
"It's all coming out now," Picard remarked as he studied the note.
It is oft said that men's love lies not within their hearts, but within their eyes,
and that the grass is always greener on the other side.
So, I built an Eden.
Yet even Eden could not contain a wandering soul.
From high atop my ivory tower,
I watched as my love found joy with another flower.
So, I watched my Eden burn.
Yet even in the ashes one can find a glimmer.
The collapse of a star leads to the birth of a nebula.
For in that dust was born the answer to the question of primogeniture.
Captain Picard frowned.
"That doesn't really quite rhyme," he remarked in criticism of the piece.
"Sir? The poem," Wesley urged.
Picard nodded and turned back to the note.
So, I built a wall around my heart.
Yet even walls can be moved.
Ashes make the ground fertile. Passion reawakened.
Gardens can bloom that were once forsaken.
So, the plot was divided.
Yet even Eden was not enough.
We gild our secrets, cover them in gold, and silence them with diamonds.
Yet fortune's wheel keeps turning in time and
so, I gambled Eden and lost.
Yet even in-
"Good God! How long is this poem?" Jean-Luc huffed.
"It must be important. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been kept so secret, right?" Wesley asked.
"Or, Q just wants to have a laugh and watch us fret over the time," Picard grumbled.
He glanced around the entrance hall, half-expecting Q to pop in at any moment.
Nothing happened.
Jean-Luc cleared his throat. He cast a wary eye up to the landing before he continued.
In that garden, my husband planted two sprouts from the same tree.
A secret I must bury in my tomb alongside my own memory.
So, I sealed the path to Eden.
Yet even snakes find a way to poke their head in.
"A bit anticlimactic," Picard said.
"Well, we can't all be poets."
It was Riker.
"It has to mean something though, right?" Wesley pressed. "Maybe there is another clue?"
A dour look crossed Captain Picard's face as he eyed the time.
"How is it going in there?" Picard asked.
Riker put his hands on his hips and exhaled heavily.
"Theories have gotten a little, well… wild."
Miles baulked.
"And so, you think Captain Picard-"
He trailed off and pointed at Reg.
"Just because of this will business?" Miles asked.
The Chief shook his head.
"I don't buy it. It doesn't explain why someone would kill Lady Moran. And there's no proof!" Miles exclaimed.
"Actually, I might be able to answer that," Picard said.
He swept into the room with Wesley and Commander Riker in tow.
"We found this poem," Picard explained.
"It was inside the cricket ball," Wesley added.
Everyone gave Data the first crack at the poem since he could read the fastest.
"What does it say?" Keiko asked.
"It is my assessment that this confirms our theory. Lord Moran is indeed the father of Duke Finley," Data said.
Miles shook his head in dismay.
"I just don't get it," he said.
Data assumed this was still a misunderstanding and launched into a lengthy explanation.
"No, no. I mean why they would go through marrying 'em off when they're-"
Miles shuddered.
"Brother and sister," he concluded.
"It explains why Lady Moran would want to stop the wedding," Beverly said.
"And why someone would want to kill her for it," Sonya added.
It was a scandalous secret.
Without the wedding, the Moran estate was doomed.
"But still," Miles said.
"It wouldn't be the first time someone killed to protect a secret – especially when money is involved," Guinan said.
Captain Picard was struck by a thought.
"Only it isn't just money."
Jean-Luc was astonished by the very thought of it. Perhaps it was the knowledge that material wealth was such a foreign concept to a man like Picard or the idea that anyone would go to such great lengths to preserve it – either way, he could not accept the murder was simply a squabble over money.
"This was a way of life. Prestige. Titles. Dignity," Picard went on as he surveyed the room.
These fine leather chairs and velvet curtains didn't come cheap. The walls were lined with books. As a student of history, Jean-Luc there was a time when such knowledge was not freely available.
From his own childhood, Picard understood all the work that went into running an estate.
The relationship between the Picard family and the people that lived and worked on their estate was radically different than this era in human history.
Sure, there were staff that helped with the vineyard and the upkeep of the manor. But there were no servants or domestic staff. The people that worked on the Picard estate were experts - historians, art restoration teams, sommeliers, agronomists.
They lived and worked to preserve one of the last remaining historical homes left after the Third World War.
"A place like this… it isn't just a building. It's an institution."
Jean-Luc paused to admire the painting above the mantle.
"People have killed for less," Picard concluded.
Data could see how someone would kill to protect that secret. That would mean the most likely culprit was Lord Moran himself – closely followed by anyone else impacted by the potential financial ruin.
Natalie Moran.
Duke Finley.
The Dowager Duchess.
"Any one of them could have killed to protect that secret," Deanna said.
An argument ensued.
Half the team were ready to rule out Miss Natalie Moran as a suspect because Tasha was missing. They didn't think it made sense for one of the captured characters to have been the perpetrator.
"Unless this is all part of the plan," Worf postulated. "Professor La Roux is Natalie Moran's partner. Perhaps they have stolen the treasure and absconded to continue their adventures?"
It was a sound hypothesis.
Their character exploits included flying around the world, feats of danger, and exploring places like the Arctic, the Amazon, and the tombs of Egyptian pharaohs. Without the financial backing of the Moran estate, those days would come to an end.
"And we know neither party was keen on the marriage," Riker added in endorsement of Worf's idea. "I bet Geordi and Tasha are off somewhere having a grand laugh at us for running around."
"No, no! It was Lord Moran," Lwaxana insisted. "It's always the husband."
Jean-Luc laughed in disbelief.
"It couldn't have been me!" he exclaimed, amused by the thought. "I was with-"
Picard trailed off as he locked eyes with Beverly. His mouth went dry. Beverly responded wordlessly with feigned curiosity.
To anyone else, it appeared as if she had momentarily forgotten. Jean-Luc knew she was teasing him, taking great satisfaction in the fact he was so flustered.
"Yes?" Beverly prompted with an innocent look.
Captain Picard coughed as he cleared his throat. He stepped away from the fireplace. The room was far too warm – both from the fire and from everyone's attention.
Particularly Beverly's.
"I was otherwise occupied," Jean-Luc said.
"Now wait just a minute," Miles interjected. "That hunting lodge isn't all that far from the estate. How do we know you didn't sneak back here in the middle of the night and pop off your wife after you were done porking-"
"Miles!" Keiko said in a stern voice.
He opened his mouth to protest. A short wordless exchange followed between the two of them. After Keiko issued a warning to watch his language, she turned back to the group.
"He does have a point," she reluctantly agreed.
"I suppose it would all depend on what you were doing out there," Reg said.
His comment held no malicious or hidden meaning. Reg was earnest in his desire to get to the bottom of the mystery.
"But we do," Wesley said to the surprise of the group. "Well, the character cards said that's the night they conceived."
Wesley Crusher was fifteen. He was more than old enough to understand the birds and bees. Nevertheless, Jean-Luc Picard wanted to crawl into a small hole.
"It doesn't take all night to make a baby," Lwaxana remarked.
Worf bristled.
"Klingons believe it is most intimate to dedicate the whole night to their lovers. To hold your beloved from sundown until the sun rises once again is considered a promise of devotion and protection," Worf said.
Lwaxana's head snapped around so fast Deanna could have sworn she injured it.
"You don't say," Lwaxana said as she gave Worf a once over.
"I don't know, Lord Moran. There wasn't anything in my character card. What do you think?" Beverly asked, knowing full well what she was doing.
Picard tensed.
Sensing a need to intervene, Deanna offered an alternative theory.
"Maybe it was the Dowager Duchess?" Deanna suggested, pointing the finger at her mother. "Without an heir, she would lose her estate. Her titles. Everything."
Lwaxana snorted and dismissed the idea outright.
"What do I care?" Lwaxana asked as she examined her fingernails. "They're just things."
"Of course, you wouldn't, mother. But your character would," Deanna said.
Given the revelation about the Finley estate and the Duke's parentage, it was obvious they needed to maintain the secret just as much as Lord Moran.
"I do not believe the Dowager Duchess is responsible for the murder," Data said.
"Thank you, Inspector," Lwaxana replied.
She raised her glass and nodded to Data appreciatively.
"The will stipulates that the Duke is second in line to inherit. It is moot whether they are wed or not," Data pointed out.
They were back to square one.
"Well, I still think it was Miss Moran and Professor La Roux in order to fund their adventures. They're probably working as a team," Riker said.
Keiko wasn't convinced.
"But there's nothing to indicate Lady Moran was going to expose that secret. If anything, the evidence indicates she wanted to preserve it," Keiko said.
"Besides, if Lady Moran was going to pay off the debt, then there was no reason to kill her," Beverly added.
Keiko flipped open her notepad and shook her head as she read through the clues.
"All these pawn tickets. Selling everything that was precious to her. I think she was worried the secret would be exposed if they were married," Keiko said.
Worf scowled as he picked up one of the auction receipts. He reached for another, and his brow furrowed even deeper.
"Many of these tickets… in fact, most of them are from the same dealer," Worf said.
He handed a stack to Data.
At the bottom was the same looped signature.
Data looked up from the papers and locked eyes with Sonya.
"Miss St James, would you care to explain why you purchased most of Lady Moran's goods?"
Sonya's face fell. Her mouth went dry.
"I… I didn't hurt anybody!" she cried.
"Relax," Lwaxana said in a soothing voice. "Remember, this is all just a game."
"Right, right," Sonya said, nodding slowly.
Suddenly, her eyes lit up.
"I get to be the culprit?" she asked.
"Think about it – Lady Moran was going to pay off her debt and give all that money to Blackjack here to buy the Coco Club. Money that she got from you," Guinan explained.
"And you are supposed to be my biggest competitor," Miles added.
Wesley wasn't convinced.
"But that doesn't explain the other deaths. What about the affair coverup?" he asked.
The gamekeeper and one of the valets had been found murdered in the woods.
"Maybe it was all a coverup? You know, to point the finger back at Lord Moran. Or Natalie. Or the Duke," Riker suggested.
"Mmm. Countermeasures. A wise procedure," Worf agreed.
Both Lord and Miss Moran had been on the hunting party. Reg's character was too. It would be the perfect opportunity for a set up.
"Wouldn't it serve me better to point the finger at Blackjack?" Sonya asked.
"Perhaps you thought it would arouse less suspicion if you were to frame one of the Morans?" Data theorised.
Captain Picard pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. And he was surprised that Q had not popped in to either chastise them for reaching the wrong conclusion or start some new mischief.
"I don't think we're going to find any answers until we locate the treasure," Picard said.
Everyone stopped talking.
"The original mystery instructions did say we would have seventy-two hours to locate the treasure," Data reminded everyone.
And hopefully find Geordi and Tasha. Data thought.
He truly wanted to believe Commander Riker's theory that they were off somewhere having a laugh. Data would be more inclined to believe that theory had they actually been the coordinators of the mystery party.
He knew there was no way either of them would be in league with Q.
And Data had a sinking feeling about what lay ahead.
Guinan had warned Q's game would likely end with a choice.
Data just hoped he didn't have to choose between Geordi and Tasha.
The grandfather clock chimed eleven times to signal that it was now 23:00 hours.
The sound echoed through the dark, empty corridors of the manor.
"We have less than an hour," Riker announced.
The team was still in the library – exhausted, broken, and feeling utterly destitute about the hope of solving the mystery before midnight.
Data had poured over the poem dozens of times.
He had run through every possible literary reference, deconstructed the symbolism, and even tapped into his database of 1950s cultural references in order to try and decipher the meaning.
Worf, Commander Riker, and Miles had gone out to search the entrance hall.
Again.
They returned in defeat.
"We found nothing," Worf said.
" I told you, we're looking in the wrong place!" Keiko insisted. "The poem says the treasure is buried in her tomb."
"We have already been out there. Twice!" Miles argued.
Keiko pursed her lips.
"Then we obviously missed something," Keiko replied.
"Worf, Chief, let's get out there," Riker said.
The three men turned to go.
"Wait," Deanna called after them.
Captain Picard was standing near the window. Deanna could feel an idea formulating in his mind.
"Captain?"
"What if we did miss something?" Picard asked.
He kept his attention fixated on the window below. From his vantage point, he could see the lake, the island, and Lady Moran's tomb.
"What if we overlooked something that's been right in front of us the entire time?" Picard went on.
He whipped around.
"This whole weekend has been about metaphor and symbolism. Q relishes in misdirection and wordplay," Picard began.
Data cleared his throat.
Jean-Luc stopped, stunned at being interrupted.
"Sir, we do not have time for one of your-"
Data paused as he settled on an appropriate word.
"Enlightening speeches."
Deanna bit back a smirk. Commander Riker was grinning like an idiot.
Picard took the comment in stride.
"Quite right. To the entrance hall!" he said before marching out of the room.
"What are you doing?" Riker asked.
"Captain?" Wesley exclaimed.
Miles crossed his arms. He leaned in close to Keiko and spoke out of the corner of his mouth.
"Do you think he's cracked under the pressure?" he whispered.
"No, no. He's got it," Beverly said.
She didn't know what he had – only that Jean-Luc was onto one of his brilliant insights.
The team stood in awe as Data and Captain Picard ripped apart the portrait that hung on the wall. Jean-Luc's first thought had been to simply remove it.
But the painting was bolted down.
"I didn't like it anyways," Lwaxana remarked.
She was watching from the foot of the stairs.
"Too gaudy," she concluded.
Deanna made a face.
"Mother, you commissioned the Betazoid Art Academy to sculpt you as the Goddess of Rixx," Deanna said.
"Oh, Deanna!"
Lwaxana clucked her tongue.
"That was a tribute to our family's contributions to the arts. This on the other hand is-"
"This is the treasure," Picard said as he ripped away the canvas.
He pulled away the canvas and let it fall to the floor.
Data frowned.
"It is a map and a key," he said.
Riker didn't need Deanna's empathic abilities to sense Data's disappointment.
"We'll find them," Keiko said as she took hold of Data's hand.
Captain Picard unfolded the map.
A collective sense of dread filled the room. Captain Picard said nothing as he studied the image.
According to Data's internal chronometer, they had forty-eight minutes left to figure it out.
"I don't know," Picard confessed.
It did little to ease the rising sense of panic Data felt. He had done his best to remain composed throughout the day for the sake of finding Geordi and Tasha.
A part of the resolve chipped away with each passing second.
"Perhaps you can make out something I don't see," Picard said as he turned the map over to Data.
The map itself was relatively simple – right, left, left, right.
There were no identifying markers, notes, or any symbols to indicate where it started or where it stopped.
It didn't even so much as show the cardinal directions.
"This could be any number of places," Data said.
Worf glanced over Data's shoulder to take a peek.
"Could the point of origin be this very room?" he asked.
Data shook his head.
"No. I do not believe so. The room on the right has no adjoining room."
The entrance hall was located on the far east wing of the house. In essence, there was no 'left' to follow the first 'right.'
"Then we'll split up," Riker said. "We can all take a different starting point. We'll use the main rooms as a guide and work from there."
Data closed his eyes and tried to manually slow his processing.
His neural net was running at a dangerous speed. The pressure of the looming deadline combined with Geordi and Tasha's disappearance was all too much.
Data was trying to figure out too many things at once. He simultaneously ran through the layout of the house and the maze while analysing Lore's behaviour.
At the same time, Data tried to figure out Q's endgame.
All of which came back to his greatest fear.
Choices.
"This is about making a choice," Data said.
He locked his gaze on Guinan and silently pleaded for wisdom.
"It could be," she said.
"If we make the wrong choice then-"
Beverly couldn't bring herself to finish that thought.
"Then it is likely we may lose Geordi or Tasha forever," Data said.
It was the blunt truth.
"We may very well all be lost. Or trapped here permanently," Data added.
"We must do something," Worf declared.
"I do not know where to start!" Data roared, raising his voice.
Data froze, embarrassed at his own outburst of emotion.
"Forgive me, Lieutenant," Data apologised.
"There is nothing to forgive," Worf assured him.
Tasha was dear to both of them. Emotions were running high.
"I do not know where to begin," Data said in a much softer voice.
Suddenly, Q appeared in a flash of light.
To Captain Picard's great frustration, Q was grooming him. Brush in hand, he swept of the Captain's shoulders.
"Oh, but you do, Inspector," Q said.
Data cocked his head to the side.
"I have analysed every clue, every symbol," Data protested.
"This entire production has been choreographed for your delight," Q replied.
Picard shook off Q's hands and stepped away.
"And you claim to gain no satisfaction? Nothing is in it for you?" Jean-Luc hissed.
Q blushed.
"Well, I must admit that I do get a small kick out of watching you all dance around," he confessed.
Jean-Luc's mouth thinned.
"This is no time for games. Two of my people are missing," Picard barked.
Q's face lit up.
"I know."
It took every fibre of Picard's being not to snap.
Q flitted over to Data and threw his arm around him.
"Time is almost up, and our hero finds himself facing an impossible task. The chips are stacked against him. You could almost say the king is in check," Q said.
He was giddy with anticipation.
"Will he succeed before the clock strikes midnight?" Q asked.
No one answered.
Q was toying with them. Everyone could feel it.
And it felt rotten.
"I simply love a good finale," Q said as he clasped his hands together.
Then he looked Jean-Luc up and down, clucking his tongue. Q practically pranced as he closed in on the Captain.
"I can't let you go into the final act like this, mon Capitaine," Q tutted. "The Lord of the Manor and you look utterly unkempt."
"Q!" Picard warned.
Q recoiled, clutching his chest.
"It's simply not worth my job, sir. I have a reputation to maintain," Q teased, feigning concern.
He gave them all a sharp rebuke.
"You lot look as if you've been mucking about trampling through the woods," Q stated.
Lwaxana Troi had reached her breaking point. She stepped forward and closed in on Q.
"Listen here, buster. We've danced to your little tune for the last twenty for hours. We're tired. And cold. And I've had just about enough of your mind games," Lwaxana said as she shook her fist in Q's face.
Q did not react.
In an instant, his demeanour changed from that of giddy gamemaster to stoic butler.
"And may I say that you are looking particularly tired this evening, Madame," Q said.
Lwaxana shook with anger.
"Mother, please," Deanna warned.
She grabbed Lwaxana's arm and tried to mentally convey the importance of remaining on Q's good side. They couldn't risk angering Q – not when they were so close to the finish.
"Now, I want you all to march upstairs and put on something suitable. Think-"
Q paused for a dramatic flair.
"Spectacular!"
Q was the only one smiling.
"Don't stand there looking forlorn! This is the final act. I want you all to make a big splash," Q said.
No one moved.
"Well, be quick about it!" Q said as he shooed them up the stairs.
Riker checked the time. They had less than half an hour to solve the mystery and find their friends.
"Perhaps it would be best if we freshened up?" Riker suggested.
Begrudgingly, everyone made their way up the stairs as Q sent them off with more than enough comments to make the blood boil.
"Mind your step. That's it," he teased.
Q snagged Wesley's ear.
"Don't forget to wash behind your ears, young man," Q added.
Wesley cupped his ear but said nothing.
Q caught Worf with a feather duster on his way up the stairs.
"Now I think your apricot ascot would look lovely with that maroon brocade," Q said.
Worf growled, shooting daggers in Q's direction.
"Worf, remember Geordi and Tasha," Beverly said as she laid a hand on his shoulder.
When he reached his rooms in the tower, Data carefully unpinned the flower that had adorned his suit all day.
He laid the yellow rose on the vanity before turning to the wardrobe.
Normally, Data was capable of dressing himself in a matter of seconds.
But his mind was so preoccupied that he could barely manage to get his bowtie on.
"I never bother with the thing."
Data was too fatigued to react.
"Something on your mind, brother?" Lore asked.
From his viewpoint, Data could see Lore lounging on the bed in the mirror. He did not turn around. Data had no desire to speak with Lore.
He surmised it was nothing more than a distraction to prevent him from reaching Tasha and Geordi on time.
Lore was relaxing on Data's bed - puffing his pipe and wearing both Data's dressing gown and Geordi's VISOR – as he flipped through the pages of a book.
Data tried to keep his mind focused on the buttons of his waistcoat.
"I know we've had our differences, brother. But if you and I were to team up-"
"I have no desire to speak with you," Data declared.
Lore chuckled.
He set down his book and padded across the carpet.
Before Data could stop him, Lore was directly behind him.
"We're not like them," Lore said as he adjusted Data's bowtie.
"We are nothing alike," Data said.
Lore reached for Data's comb.
"You wound me, brother," Lore said as he pouted.
Data turned to address him. Lore caught his face and forced it back to the mirror.
"Now, now. We have to make sure you look dapper when you swoop in and save the day."
Data recognised that Lore was just trying to get under his skin – and he was reluctant to admit it was working.
Lore worked the comb through Data's hair until it had returned to its usual sleek style.
"There," he said, proud of his work. "I'm sure your little lady won't be able to keep her hands off you."
He whistled as he smoothed his brother's suit coat. Lore paused to apply some aftershave – first to himself and second for Data. He slapped Data a bit harder than necessary.
Lore was disappointed when Data did not react.
Time to up the ante.
"After all, she couldn't keep her hands off me," Lore growled.
Data turned and met Lore's eyes.
"If you are attempting to elicit an emotional response by mocking my relationship, it will not work," Data said in a matter-of-fact voice.
Lore laughed softly.
He reached for the flower on the desk. Lore admired it for a moment before he moved to pin it on Data's dinner jacket.
"A thing of beauty," Lore remarked. "Prickly if you grab it wrong. But if you navigate past the thorns, you'll find it's all soft and sweet."
Data remained silent.
"Fragile really," Lore added.
Lore looked Data up and down before giving him a wink of approval.
"You know, she tried to shoot me earlier?" Lore asked.
Data was not impressed.
"Lieutenant Yar knows our specifications. Our superior strength, speed, hearing, vision, and storage capacity," Data said. "As a tactical expert, she would not attempt such a pointless manoeuvre with a crude weapon."
"Hmmm," Lore said.
His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Lore backed away from Data. He slipped off Data's dressing gown and returned it to a hook near the wardrobe.
When he turned around, Data was stunned to see that Lore's torso was peppered with the evidence.
"It would seem you don't know your precious Lieutenant as well as you thought," Lore said.
Data was tempted to reach out and inspect the damage. There was every possibility Lore had inflicted it upon himself to make Data question his relationship.
It could very well be another one of Q's machinations.
Data's hand twitched – then he stopped himself.
He did not want to give Lore the satisfaction.
Lore held out his arms in expectation of some response.
"She would not. She has studied every aspect of our design. Every inch of our bodies," Data said, refusing to believe what he thought was a trick.
"It would seem only fair then that I should get study every inch of her," Lore replied.
He took his sweet time dragging out each word.
The threat was not lost on Data.
"I can't wait to pick up where we left off," Lore said as he held Data's gaze.
"Your attempts to make me doubt the sincerity of my relationship with Lieutenant Yar will not be successful," Data warned.
Lore feigned innocence.
"Oh, brother. I do not mean to insinuate anything. I merely wanted to remind you that she will always be more thing that we share," Lore said.
Lore grinned.
"Our own special connection."
"You obtained those memories through unscrupulous means. You stole them from me. From us," Data argued.
During their first encounter, Lore had requested Data join him in a neural transfer. Lore had promised to share memories of Data's life on Omicron Theta – from a time before the programming block that prevented him from accessing those engrams.
In reality, Lore had absorbed everything he could from Data while giving nothing in return.
"They are not your experiences. You do not share them," Data said.
Lore was amused.
"No, no, brother. I'm not referring to your generous transfer," Lore said, taunting Data. "I mean the ones we share. Your precious little human companion and I."
Data said nothing.
"The ones that are just-"
Lore smirked as he fussed with Data's collar.
"For."
He pinched his brother's face.
"Us."
The synthetic muscle in Lore's face twitched.
Data remained silent. Wordlessly, he conveyed cold fury as he watched his brother.
He didn't buy a word of Lore's story. At least, he didn't buy Lore's interpretation of events. He knew Lore had already had two encounters with Tasha.
In the first instance, Lore had misrepresented himself as Data.
And that was hardly the first time Lore had impersonated his brother for ill begotten gains.
"Oh, don't worry brother. I'll take good care of her," Lore said while he smoothed Data's collar.
Data caught Lore's hand, stopping him.
For several tense seconds, the two brothers stared at one another.
Lore tried to free himself from Data's grasp. He did not have the strength. They were evenly matched.
"Why is that every time we meet – you pretend to be me?" Data asked, cutting right to the heart of Lore's insecurity. "Are you dissatisfied with your own being?"
Lore's air of authority faltered.
"We could be an unstoppable team," Lore said.
"Your past behaviour does not indicate any willingness to participate in a meaningful and mutually beneficial partnership," Data countered.
Lore was momentarily stunned by Data's response.
He was hardly the same brother he had met months before. This time, Data was prepared for Lore's attempts to manipulate him.
"Brother-"
"You are only interested in being my brother so long that it serves you," Data interjected. "You tried to destroy my home. To kill everyone I care about."
Data had never forgotten Lore's betrayal.
"You sought to harm those that are dear to me," Data went on.
"We're special, Data."
It was all Lore had left in his arsenal. Threats hadn't worked.
"We aren't like them," Lore said, appealing to their shared desire to find a sense of belonging.
"No. We are not," Data acknowledged.
Lore visibly relaxed. The corner of his lip curled upward. There was a hint of satisfaction in the twinkle in his eyes.
Data's gaze fell on the bed where Geordi's VISOR sat abandoned next to Lore's book.
The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.
Lore followed Data's line of sight.
"I was asked earlier today who I am. And I hesitated," Data said.
Lore braced himself for the words he'd yearned to hear.
"I may not know who I am. But I know what I do not want to be," Data said, eyeing Lore with obvious disdain.
Lore was shattered – but he quickly recovered.
He produced the silver cigarette case they had discovered earlier down in the tunnels – the same one that led to a disagreement between Data and Tasha over her past smoking habit.
Lore slipped it into the breast pocket of Data's suit coat.
"I will wait at your convenience for a final discussion of these questions which lie between us. Someday," Lore said as he petted Data's pocket.
Miles and Keiko were just stepping out of his rooms when Data marched past.
He looked determined.
He looked like he had a plan.
"Data?" Keiko asked.
Data was walking quickly – a feat made easier by his long stride.
Keiko and Miles had a difficult time keeping pace.
Beverly was the next at the door. She spied Data rush past with Keiko and Miles and tow.
"Data?" Beverly called after him.
Across the corridor, Wesley poked his head out the door.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"I think we're about to find out," Beverly said, following the group.
Wesley, who had been towelling his ears, dropped the flannel and took after the rest of them.
Beverly knocked on Deanna's door – who in turn banged on Riker's.
Will was still trying to get dressed. Riker hopped along, pulling his shoe on as he tried to catch up to the others.
Data swept down the staircase to the main level.
The rest of the team was waiting down below. Sonya was a nervous ball of energy – something she had in common with Captain Picard at the moment.
"Data?" Picard asked.
"I know where the map begins," Data announced.
"The ballroom?" Deanna asked.
"Data, I don't see how this map could lead anywhere from the ballroom," Riker said.
Aside from the corridor, the only place it led was to an isolated veranda. There was no exit. It was completely surrounded by plants on two sides and the river on the third.
"Q gave away as much during our last encounter," Data said.
Captain Picard was practically running to try and converse with Data.
"Because of the dancing comment. The attire," Picard realised aloud.
"And his statement about making a splash," Data added.
The powerful sound of the roaring waterfall outside filled the air as they approached the ballroom. The room was brightly lit. A disembodied string quartet serenaded the air.
And the doors were opened to the veranda beyond.
"I believe there is a hidden door somewhere," Data said.
The team had discovered a key along with the map. There was nothing remarkable about the key itself – it was just an ordinary brass key.
"The poem. Eden. You think this garden is the Eden built by Lady Moran?" Picard pressed.
He had expected 'Eden' to merely be an allegory for her wealth.
"It must be outside," Data said.
"Fan out. Check everything," Picard ordered.
The team started by checking the two sides that were not against the river nor the house. Raised flower beds made of stone housed roses, hydrangeas, bluebells, snowdrops and more.
Data surmised Q must have employed some sort of interference to keep them safe from the frost.
It was far too chilly for most of these blooms to survive shy of unnatural means.
Chief O'Brien, Sonya, and Reg were engineers by nature. They started by checking the stonework of the raised flower beds itself – running their fingers along the masonry, checking for any anomalies.
Deanna closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
She shut out all the sounds of the frantic search and focused only on the waterfall. She was trying to see if she could reach Geordi or Tasha's consciousness.
This wing of the house sat situated near a crag. The garden wall itself backed into the rockface. It was too steep to climb.
Data surveyed the landscape – starting at the waterfall and ending at the dark corner where Worf was angrily ripping into a bed of alstroemeria.
23:52
Data was uncomfortably aware of each passing second.
"Oh! Oh!"
Lwaxana Troi shrieked.
Everyone immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed over to her position.
"Ugh! Get it off! Get it off!" she insisted.
Will Riker (always keen to curry favour with Mrs Troi) desperately tried to help but he didn't know where to start.
He didn't see any threat or anything attacking her.
"Mrs Troi!" Picard barked as he gripped her shoulders.
Lwaxana took a series of great, heaving breaths.
"Mrs Troi," Picard said in a much softer tone.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she huffed. "These stupid thorns caught my dress."
Deanna put her hand on the Captain's arm, silently urging patience. Jean-Luc wanted to explode. He bit his tongue for Data's sake.
Lwaxana could sense Picard's anger.
In fact, she knew exactly what he was saying in his head as he cursed her.
"It's not foolish! This is Orion silk," Lwaxana fumed. "In any case, we are all on edge. I think it's only natural to be a little jumpy."
"I didn't say it," Picard replied in a terse voice.
"You didn't have to!" Lwaxana retorted.
They were seconds from verbally tearing into one another. The tension between the team was at an all-time high.
"Wait!" Keiko called out.
Mrs Troi had been hung up on a rose bush. But it was the flower next to the roses that had caught Keiko's attention.
She stepped forward to cup one of the flowers in hand. It was a vibrant shade of purple and almost bell-shaped in appearance with speckled petals.
"Fritillaria meleagris," Keiko said.
That's it. Picard thought.
"I am sure that this is a very important or special plant. But we have less than ten minutes to find this secret entrance," Picard snapped.
Keiko looked up and met Data's eyes.
"Fritillaria meleagris," she repeated.
Data stared at the bloom.
"Fascinating," he whispered.
"The entrance!" Picard insisted.
Keiko picked one of the flowers and handed it over to the Captain.
"That's what I'm telling you – this is the entrance," Keiko announced.
Everyone looked to Data for an explanation.
"Fritillaria meleagris. Also known as the 'chess flower' for its checkered appearance," Data explained. "The original English name for this flower was-"
Data looked to Captain Picard.
"Snake's head."
"The poem," Picard gasped.
Lwaxana stepped aside wearing a smug look.
"Just my luck, I can't do anything wrong," she said.
Keiko was already digging through the dirt. Commander Riker didn't care about his dinner jacket or his fine wristwatch.
"Out of the way," Worf ordered.
Worf forced his way between them and began shovelling aside the dirt with his hands in an effort to clear it.
He had the biggest hands, so it was an easy task for him. Worf was also grateful for the chance to do something at last.
And there, under the dirt, they discovered something smooth and cold.
Worf knocked on the object.
"Metal!" he hollered.
Data swooped in with the key in hand.
There was a soft click followed by the tell-tale sound of stone scraping along stone.
The team took a collective step back.
The ground shook. A pot that had sat perched on the garden wall crashed to the ground. The flowerbed that held the chess flowers retracted – dropping into the ground below to reveal a path cut through the rockface.
A look passed between Data and Worf.
"After you," said Worf.
Right.
Left.
Left.
Right.
Data followed every twist and turn of the stone path. Worf was half a step behind him. The rest of the team were a little further back – Riker leading the way.
Data emerged from the path into a lush green space.
The air was crisp. The moon shone bright overhead. And the roar of the waterfall was even louder than before.
It was the secret garden Lady Moran had built.
And it was breathtaking.
"I believe we have found Eden," Data said, recalling the poem.
A slow clap followed.
"Very good," Q said as he appeared.
He snapped his fingers, and the cork flew off a champagne bottle on an outdoor table covered with a fine white linen tablecloth.
A lone candle floating in a glass jar adorned the surface.
The bottle floated in mid-air to fill a row of champagne flutes. It was as if an invisible hand were guiding it.
A pale hand emerged from the darkness and closed in around one of the glasses.
Lore stepped out of the shadows and lifted his glass to Data.
"Brother."
The rest of the team spilled out from the stone path.
"Whoa," Wesley remarked.
In spite of the chill, the garden was a beautiful atmosphere. It was lovely at night. Data could only imagine what it must look like under the sun.
The cool, fast-moving water streamed past before it met the roar of the waterfall.
The garden was situated on a rocky crag high above the manor. From his viewpoint, Data could see the whole of the estate and her lands.
Hell, he could see for miles.
Data felt a pang of loneliness as he stood there.
Without Tasha, Data didn't want to be in the most beautiful place on the estate – especially knowing that she was missing.
Geordi would probably love the garden.
Near the edge of the waterfall sat a hand-carved chess table. Geordi adored such handmade objects. Geordi had an appreciation for the artform.
Data could just envision an afternoon spent at that table as they discussed philosophy or music or the finer points of sailing.
"Where are they, Q?" Picard demanded.
Q pouted.
"Aww… were you expecting to find your dear missing crew at the end of this rainbow?" Q asked.
Riker lifted his sleeve to check the time.
Three minutes to midnight.
"You won't find them until you complete the mystery," Q explained.
Jean-Luc was apoplectic.
"We have trampled through every inch of that house! We've played your game! Obeyed your rules! Danced to your bloody tune!" Picard roared.
Q chuckled.
Before responding, he swirled his champagne and took a swig.
"But you haven't discovered the treasure, have you?" Q asked.
"And the clock is ticking," Lore added as he sauntered over the chess table.
"What do you know of this?" Picard demanded.
During their first trip to the ballroom, Q had complained of being just another trapped prisoner in Q's game.
"Nothing," Lore responded.
He stopped fiddling with one of the chess pieces and looked up – flashing Jean-Luc an innocent look that was all too reminiscent of Data.
"I have theories. Theories I suspect my brother may share," Lore acknowledged.
Data stared at the chess piece Lore had moved.
The queen.
"But they are only theories," said Lore.
Q snapped his fingers and held out his hands.
On the left sat the queen. On the right, the knight.
"It's said that all the world's a stage. But really, it's all about choices. Like a game of chess," Q said.
He held the pieces out for Data.
"So, which one do you choose to sacrifice?" Q asked.
"Then it is as I feared. I must choose who to save and who to sacrifice?" Data inquired.
Q smirked.
"Not if you find the treasure," Q answered.
Data approached the chess board to study the layout. It was set for a fresh game so there were no clues to be gleaned from the pieces themselves.
As he approached the board, Data was struck by the similarities between this setting and one of his favourite fictional stories.
Data was faced with an impossible dilemma.
An enemy that a was match for him in every respect.
It was like his own personal Reichenbach Falls.
For every move Data made, Q and Lore were one step ahead. He no sooner escaped one trap before falling into another.
"Feels like being a king in perpetual check, eh brother?" Lore asked.
Data turned to Lore.
The two stared at one another as the seconds ticked away.
Neither spoke.
Reg Barclay jumped as a great gong tolled in the distance to mark the hour.
Midnight.
"Ah! Midnight," Q announced.
The sound of the bells from an unknown clocktower had spooked the rest of the team. In this setting, the garden had become an eerie place.
Data stood motionless next to Lore.
"The moon is high. The time is right," Q said.
He inhaled deeply, savouring the crisp Autumn air.
"Well? What is your choice?" Q asked.
Data did not turn around. He kept his gaze locked on Lore.
"I choose the treasure."
It was the last thing Data said before he and Lore went over the falls together.
Data and Lore sank the moment they hit the water.
There was a deep pool below the falls. Yet, it did little to break their descent.
Lore and Data both weighed so much that they lacked the buoyancy to swim.
They were falling – and fast.
Data's bioplast sensors registered the temperature at a frosty 3.11°C.
The river flowed down and out through the woods past the estate grounds. It was a powerful stream and Data could feel the current even in pool underfoot where the pressure from the waterfall had carved out a deep bed in the rock.
It was dark underwater. But Data's keen optical sensors were able to detect and identify the branches, roots, rocks, and sediment in the brackish water.
Time seemed to move slower underwater.
At long last, Data's feet hit the bottom.
When the sediment dissipated, Data could just make out two shadows ahead.
He was about to take his first step, when Lore's arm shot out to stop him. Lore pointed at the two figures. Then he signalled that he would take the one on the left.
Data nodded.
Both brothers set off on foot toward their destination ahead. It wasn't far, but it was slow going underwater.
Even with superior strength, Data could feel a slight pull. He was hypersensitive to the small increase in his strength output that was necessary for movement under the water.
As he drew closer, the shadows became sharper.
Geordi and Tasha were floating in suspended animation. They looked ghastly as they hung there, held in place by the long, ribbon-like stalks of watermilfoil.
It was wrapped around their ankles and arms. It twisted up over their limbs. Geordi and Tasha were completely tangled in the stuff.
Data looked up. He could see a glimmer of light from the surface. But they were at least ten metres below.
The power of the water had eaten away at the rock – creating a deep pool before it flowed out into the river that cut through the estate lands.
They would have to climb out of the depths. Data couldn't simply swim up.
They would have to climb out using the rocky shoreline. Data didn't have much faith in the soft sediment.
He couldn't simply release Geordi and Tasha and let them float to the surface. They were unconscious. They could easily be swept away by the river – even if they did regain consciousness.
Data glanced back at their bodies where Lore used his strength to rip apart the tendrils of watermilfoil that had entangled Tasha.
Data reached for Geordi's wrist. He could feel a pulse.
Lore slung Tasha over his shoulder and nodded to Data before setting off into the darkness.
Data gripped the organic restraints, tearing them away from Geordi's body until he was free. Geordi started to float away.
Data caught his arm.
He threw Geordi over his shoulder. His limp body was dead weight – a thought that unsettled Data in ways he couldn't begin to explain.
He never wanted to experience that feeling again.
Hold on, Geordi.
With Geordi secure, Data set off into the darkness of the eerie underwater.
Data crawled out from the water and up the shoreline.
He nearly lost his footing on the wet rocks.
It was a relief to step onto the soft sand of the riverbank.
Data collapsed to his knees. It was not from the physical exertion nor the abrupt change in movement going from the water back to the surface.
Rather, the emotional toll of the last few days and high-stakes Q had finally gotten the better of him.
Data felt Geordi cough and splutter on his shoulder.
He quickly laid him down on the sand. He turned Geordi to the side so he could expel the water from his lungs.
Geordi gagged before taking a great, heaving breath.
His VISOR was still in back in Data's quarters. Geordi instinctively felt around to try and get his bearings.
Data clutched his hand.
"I am here, Geordi," Data assured him.
Geordi squeezed his hand in response.
Less than a metre away, Tasha coughed up a healthy amount of river water. Her chest and throat hurt from the rapid, involuntary expulsion of the brackish liquid and sediment.
She collapsed onto her back and took a series of breaths.
The last thing Tasha could recall was the cabin. She had finally been warm and dry after trampling through the woods in her soaked clothing.
Now she was wet.
And cold.
Again.
Tasha shivered against the cold.
Then she became aware of a familiar face hovering just above her own. Tasha reached up and cupped his pale face.
She flashed him a weak smile.
"You're safe," she whispered.
He leaned in close, close enough to close the distance between them.
"I'm safe," he said.
Tasha grimaced.
She dropped her hand from his cheek to cover Lore's face, blocking his access to her lips.
"Ugh… it's you," Tasha scoffed.
Lore flopped onto his back on the sand next to Tasha.
"You're welcome," he said.
Tasha did not respond. She didn't have the energy to fight.
Or run.
She blinked and stared up at the stars overhead. Then Tasha felt Data's hand as he slipped his fingers between her own.
He didn't have to say anything – she knew.
The stars grew dim.
The chill from the October air wasn't so bad. Even the frosty, uncomfortable feeling of the wet clothes that clung to Data's skin began to melt away.
Warmth radiated off Tasha's hand.
The weight of the last few days was gone. Data felt his jaw unclench. He had not even been aware the muscles in his face were so tight.
Data was suddenly aware of how tired he felt, of how relief might await upon activation of his rest programme.
And of how he did not need to feel guilt over such an action.
Everything seemed to fade to black as Data slipped into the abyss of sleep.