Author's Note: Thank you all for your ongoing support of this story!
I apologise that it's been so long for me to respond to comments & update. I started 2024 horribly ill. Spring marked a number of busy milestones in my personal and professional life. Summer brought some fresh health challenges.
From the bottom of my heart—thank you for your patience.
It's a multi-chapter drop!
The title of this chapter is taken from George Washington's Newburgh Address. The President of the United Federation of Planets mentioned in this chapter is taken from Keith R.A. DeCandido's Articles of the Federation.
There's a lot of action happening behind the scenes on the Romulan end that is not seen in this arc. I want to be clear that Sela and Morak are only a part of the broader Romulan arc. They are not joining the fic as a major perspective.
Data/Tasha are the primary focus and will continue to be so.
However, I felt we needed some resolution on the Romulan side because the conspiracy has still infiltrated Starfleet. Additionally, the events that transpire at the end of that conspiracy directly set in motion the Klingon Civil War/Redemption story arc that will be a major component for The Course We Set (S3/S4) and The Choice (S5).
Those events will be covered in detail in The Consequence companion piece (which I intend to release in 2025).
So, we will see this arc where the action is once again split between the Enterprise & the Romulans. Once complete, the focus will shift back to Data/Tasha almost exclusively. Please note, there will be a handful of other Romulan storyline scenes at the conclusion of The Complication.
C/W: Pregnancy, grief, whumping/injuring (major character), death (not major character), pregnancy.
There's also a steamy scene in the next two chapters. One ends abruptly. The other is 'fade to black' but a bit more oomph than I typically write.
I want to thank Lady_Lore for helping me to experiment & grow more comfortable with writing in that aspect.
"You will defeat the insidious designs of our Enemies, who are compelled to resort from open force to secret Artifice. You will give one more distinguished proof of unexampled patriotism & patient virtue, rising superior to the pressure of the most complicated sufferings..."
- George Washington | The Newburgh Address | 1783
Captain's Log. Supplemental. The Yamato's entire crew and their families, more than a thousand people, have been lost. Circumstances unfortunately permit us no pause for grief.
The Red Alert klaxon blared overhead.
Just outside the viewscreen, the wrecked fragments of the Yamato floated in an eerie manner.
What little remained.
More than thirteen hundred people were gone in an instant.
The loss of the Yamato was a cruel reminder of just how dangerous life on a starship could be.
"I'm reading no life signs," Lieutenant Jae reported from Operations.
"Keep scanning the larger sections," Riker ordered.
He hoped against all odds that someone—anyone—had managed to get into an escape pod.
The turbolift doors slid open. Data and Tasha stepped out onto the Bridge and took up their positions. Jean-Luc wasn't going to question their presence. He needed his team.
Picard shared a brief nod with Data.
"Not a moment too soon," Picard said.
"The Romulan ship is decloaking. Your orders, sir?" Worf pressed.
It wasn't the sight of a Romulan vessel that left Worf on edge—it was the fact they had to decloak in order to raise their shields.
And fire.
The cloak used far too much power to utilise the disruptors or torpedoes while in use.
"Shields up!" Picard ordered.
Tasha slipped into her usual position at Tactical. Her hand hovered over the control to bring the phaser banks online.
"Phasers?" she asked.
"No! They may be judging our intention," Picard said.
Tasha bit back a protest.
It took just over two minutes to bring the phasers fully online. They would be extremely vulnerable—especially in their current state.
"Open a channel."
A look passed between Worf and Tasha. Neither of them had much faith in the Romulans' desire to talk. Reluctantly, Worf keyed in his access code to hail the other ship.
"Data, is there any way to determine if the Romulan ship was responsible for what happened on the Yamato?" Picard inquired.
Data's brow furrowed. His hands danced across the Operations console, but it was evident he was moving slower than normal.
The damage from the accident in Engineering had left Data's neural pathways scrambled and he wasn't functioning at his full processing capacity.
Data had not been present during the lead up to the Yamato's demise. And he was struggling to get caught up.
"Data!" Picard urged.
"I am sorry, sir. I need more time to analyse these readings," Data confessed.
He felt ashamed that he could not provide an instantaneous answer.
To everyone's surprise, Jean-Luc's response was tempered.
"That's quite alright. We'll keep trying to make contact while you review it," Picard said. "But Data, I need an assessment. Soon."
Data nodded and turned back to his work.
"No response from the Romulan vessel," Worf reported.
"Their shields are up, and their disruptor cannons are fully activated," Tasha added.
In fact, she showed they had already locked on to target several critical systems on the Enterprise. The residential decks were most vulnerable. There was no way the Enterprise could survive another sustained conflict.
Captain Rixx appeared on the viewscreen.
"Picard. If we don't take that ship out soon, it's only a matter of time before they call their friends. This could turn into a real party," Rixx warned.
Each second they delayed gave the Romulans an advantage.
"Picard," Rixx warned.
He didn't like to question another Captain in front of the crew—but Captain Rixx wasn't about to let his own ship succumb to the same fate as the Yamato.
"Romulan vessel, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise," Picard said.
Everyone on the Bridge fell silent as they waited.
"Data?" Picard whispered.
Data glanced over his shoulder and shook his head.
"I cannot be certain, sir," Data answered honestly. "Not without analysing the information from the Yamato's logs."
The situation on the Yamato had deteriorated so quickly. It was impossible to know if the Romulans were involved.
As far as they were aware, a Romulan ship had to be decloaked in order to fire. But there was no way to know for certain as that information was based on schematics that were decades old. It could very well be outdated.
Furthermore, they couldn't rule out sabotage nor the possibility that the Romulans had targeted the Yamato through the use of other means like a computer virus or some sort of remote hacking attempt.
"Romulan vessel, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise," Picard repeated. "We have no wish to engage in hostilities."
There was no response.
Captain Picard turned to Deanna.
"Counsellor, is there anything you can sense? Any intention?"
Deanna shook her head. Her vision was blurry. The lights on the Bridge were far too bright. Riker could recognise that all the emotions from the destruction of the Yamato had caused the equivalent of a Betazoid migraine.
"Sir, I can't—"
Deanna trailed off.
She gripped her chair for support and squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to block the pain.
Such a powerful collective hit of emotion caused physical pain in Betazoids and lasting brain damage if it wasn't treated.
"Get her to Sickbay," Picard ordered.
Lieutenant Jae rushed forward and offered Deanna her arm before escorting the Counsellor to the lift. Will Riker was desperate to accompany Deanna, but he knew his place was on the Bridge.
"Romulan vessel!" Picard tried for a third time.
His booming voice belied just how frayed his nerves were.
Jean-Luc was about to acquiesce to Captain Rixx's request to open fire when the Romulans responded. A tall, thin Romulan woman appeared on screen.
Her image was partially obstructed by the stark shadows. It was a power play, intended to set Starfleet on edge by refusing to talk face to face.
She wasted no time in getting down to business.
"Explain your illegal presence in Romulan space," she demanded.
"Did you fire on the USS Yamato? Are you responsible for the destruction of our starship?" Picard countered.
The Romulan folded her arms and scowled.
"Explain your illegal presence in Romulan space."
The Vindicta
Emperor Aquilo stood in front of the large view window in Morak's office. After a chilly dinner the night before, Aquilo had declared he was too enraged to speak about the loss of Ekloire and Lantera.
Morak had suggested they reschedule for lunch the following day so that he might spend the evening in solitude and reflection at his private shrine.
That lunch had been equally as tense.
Now Aquilo, Morak, and Tomalak had retired to Morak's private office following their meal.
Morak insisted on lighting ceremonial candles and a series of elaborate offerings to the divines in recompense for the lives lost on Ekloire and Lantera.
He poured them all a hefty glass of his finest Risian brandy.
Morak sauntered over to the window and offered one to the Emperor first.
"I cannot even bring myself to look at you," Aquilo sneered, refusing the offer.
"As you wish, your grace," Morak said, retreating with a low bow.
Tomalak happily accepted the offer. He brought the drink to his mouth. It hovered near his lips. But then he waited, eager to see Morak sample it first.
Morak grinned as he sat down across from his old rival.
"Oh, I think there's been enough death for one day," Morak said with a wink.
Tomalak chuckled.
"I'm sure that is a comfort to all the thousands of dead children of the Empire and their families," Tomalak countered, raising his glass to Morak in a mock toast.
General Morak was too experienced to be ruffled by Tomalak's comment.
"Their loss is a necessary sacrifice for the next great age of the Romulan Star Empire," Morak said.
He leaned back against the fine, cushioned sofa and stretched out his arm across the back. Morak cracked his neck and then took a leisurely sip of brandy.
"When the next phase is complete, the Federation capitulates, and we have seized control of—"
"WITH. WHAT. FLEET?"
Aquilo whipped around.
"You have cost me more in a single day than any of the previous engagements with the Breen and Klingons in the last decade!"
His voice shook with fury as he dressed down his uncle.
"Where would you have me pull troops from then, uncle?" Aquilo demanded harshly. "Should we weaken our defences? Bow down to the Klingons? Broker peace with the Cardassians? Tell the outlying colonies they're the next sacrifice?"
Morak smiled above the rim of his glass.
"The beauty of my plan is that it does not require a fleet," Morak said.
He had spent considerable time investing resources in key areas of the Federation—Starfleet, the Federation Council, various governing bodies of important powers on Vulcan, the Andorian government, the Betazoid aristocracy, and more.
"We're well positioned to continue the plan with some minor adjustments," Morak continued.
"Then what in the name of the Divines did I waste two hundred billion talons on? A vanity project?" roared Aquilo.
"Power comes in many forms," Morak said.
He paused to take a lingering sip of brandy and to light a snakeleaf cigar. Morak puffed away until it took and then sighed contentedly.
Tomalak's eyes narrowed as he studied Morak's casual air of superiority.
"You are either sitting on something very devious—in which case you have withheld it from our Emperor—or you're bluffing," Tomalak said.
It was a direct challenge.
"No more riddles," Aquilo insisted.
"You're right. I have been sitting on something. And I withheld this information only to protect it. For the Empire," Morak said.
It was a lie.
They all knew it.
But such lies and deceit were par for the course when it came to power in the Romulan Empire.
"Even as we speak, I've already set a plan in motion to capture their Flagship. The Federation will fall in a matter of weeks," Morak promised.
Aquilo's anger evaporated.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that by this time tomorrow, the Enterprise will be under my control. Before the week's out, she will lead a delegation of Romulan ships back to Earth where Federation President Amitra of Pandril will have no choice but to welcome us."
He had it all planned out.
"Our conquest of the Federation will simply take a different form," Morak announced. "I've dispatched Admiral Jarok. By this time next week, we'll be on our way to Earth to return the Enterprise. We will meet Starfleet's unchecked aggression with diplomacy."
Morak smiled as he straightened his posture.
"Talks will come next. A peace accord will follow."
Tomalak scoffed.
"The Cardassian Union will never stand for it."
"Of course, they won't," Morak agreed.
An alliance between the Romulans and the Federation would upend the balance of power. There was a wicked gleam in Morak's dark eyes as he leaned in across the table. He beckoned Tomalak and Aquilo closer as if he were about to divulge a wicked secret.
"And that is how we will exploit the Federation's greatest weakness," Morak said. "What do they value more than anything? Hmm?"
He looked back and forth between the two men for an answer.
"Their pathetic values that weaken their position and poison their bloodlines," Aquilo said.
Morak shook his head.
"Safety."
Tomalak sat back and rubbed his chin as he mulled over this suggestion.
"Security," Morak went on.
Aquilo was in deep thought.
"We have seen it in each and every engagement. If their homes are threatened, they will sacrifice everything. They will set aside their values and their moral obligations—especially if there's someone else willing to get their hands dirty," Morak explained.
Safety was everything. The Federation went to great lengths to maintain stability and secure the safety of its borders—provided it didn't upset the balance of power and threaten the Federation as a whole.
Federation diplomats railed against the injustice of Bajor's occupation but wouldn't lift a finger to directly help the Bajor people. They feared an escalation in the conflict would threaten the Federation as a whole.
Bajor.
Bolius IX.
Turkana IV.
Whether it be war, genocide, famine, or deadly ideological conflicts—the Federation cared only up to the point where it's security and trade interests could be protected.
And Morak was keen to exploit that weakness.
Aquilo's brow furrowed. "What are you saying, uncle? Speak plainly."
"It is inevitable that the Cardassians will escalate their conflict with the Federation. They'll be only too keen for us to take care of that problem for them," Morak said.
The Federation would hem and haw in order to satisfy their need for moral superiority. But when it came right down to it, Morak was confident the Federation would do anything to secure the safety of Federation citizens.
"When the Cardassians start occupying Federation colonies. Or when they turn to more drastic means—metagenic weapons, trilithium resin explosives, a weaponised nerve agent. It's only a matter of time."
Such methods of destruction could wreak havoc on any number of Federation worlds and would destroy billions of lives in the process.
"We will be well positioned to control the Federation Council and Starfleet. Unopposed troop build-ups. Permanent outposts in the Alpha Quadrant ready for staging any attack. New dilithium mines and tritanium deposits at our fingertips."
Morak's face lit up with greed as described the benefits of his plan.
"And all our security measures will be in place, our troops entrenched under the guise of alliance long before those simpering Federation fools even realise that they've signed away their illusion of freedom."
Morak would oppress hundreds of Federation worlds without so much as firing a single shot (at least, without firing at the Federation).
He could easily orchestrate it to ensure the ensuing escalation between the Federation and the Cardassian Union was more costly to Starfleet than to his own forces.
The Alliance would topple the Federation and defeat the Cardassians. Cardassia was already weakened by the conflict. It would take them decades to ever be in a position of power to come against the Romulans again.
Aquilo was intrigued, but Tomalak wasn't convinced.
"And if they don't?" Tomalak asked.
"Hmm?" Morak prompted.
"What happens if the Cardassians simply… back down? What if they decide it isn't worth escalating the conflict?" Tomalak inquired.
Morak chuckled.
"Then we'll have to be sure they do," Morak replied coolly.
"An amusing notion," remarked Tomalak.
It sounded like Morak was placing an awful lot of faith in the unknown.
"I'm sure that would be a wonderful plan if we had a full Fleet, unlimited troops, the ability to produce these weapons," Tomalak ranted. "But in case you forgot, we've already invested all of our resources into your last plan."
The Romulan Star Empire simply didn't have the power or people to pull it off.
"Unless you can shoot magic out of your pompous arse—"
"Ah," Morak said, raising a finger. "Six months ago, my forces discovered something that will eclipse every archaeological discovery our Empire has ever uncovered."
Morak had dispatched his own sister, Ramdha, to oversee the project.
"This will rewrite our understanding of science and technology, interstellar travel, and our own physiology," Morak shared.
Morak paused and smirked.
He was immensely proud of himself and was confident this discovery would mark his place in history as the greatest Romulan leader of all time.
"Iconia."
The room fell silent.
Tomalak was the first to find his voice. To Morak's dismay, Tomalak howled with laughter.
"Surely, you jest," he chortled.
Aquilo glared at his father-in-law. There was nothing more sacred to the Black Eagle movement than the Romulan ties to Iconia. They considered themselves the natural second coming of that once-great Empire.
"It was lost," Tomalak said defensively. "It's been lost for ages. Destroyed."
According to legend, the world was destroyed by fire and reduced to ash. There were any number of modern theories that speculated on the exact cause of such a catastrophe ranging from a sun gone supernova to a cataclysmic series of volcanic eruptions.
Morak nodded slowly.
"The surface of the planet was destroyed. Geological records show widespread devastation caused by volcanic activity," he acknowledged.
It was part of what made uncovering Iconia so difficult. It was buried.
"But underneath…"
Morak trailed off and flashed them a genuine grin.
"Are you saying something survived?" Aquilo pressed.
Aquilo was thrilled at the prospect of being the Emperor that had found Iconia. The advanced weaponry and technology once used by the ancient Iconians was more than enough to make all of the loss and expense worthwhile.
"I know that you're keen to blame me for the unforeseen situation at Ekloire starbase," Morak prefaced. He locked eyes with his nephew and risked gripping his hand. "But I am only trying to protect your interests."
He clenched Aquilo's hand tight.
"And if you betray me or try to come against me—you will never find Iconia," Morak threatened.
Once alone in the corridor, Aquilo turned to Tomalak.
"This changes things," he muttered.
"Indeed, it does."
Tomalak had expected something off the wall from Morak, some last-minute attempt to spare himself the humiliation of defeat.
He had not expected this.
"Your orders, your grace?" Tomalak prompted.
Aquilo frowned as he weighed his options.
"You ordered Jarok to stand down?"
"Yes," Tomalak answered.
"And you dispatched someone loyal to investigate?"
It was critical whoever they dispatched to investigate Jarok's destination was, in fact, loyal to Aquilo and not one of Morak's many allies.
"I've sent my most trusted attaché, Subcommander Taris," Tomalak assured him.
She had served under Tomalak for years. After ordering Jarok and his fleet of ships to halt, Tomalak had sent Taris to investigate just what Jarok was after.
"I sent her with orders to turn any Federation ships back across the Neutral Zone," Tomalak advised.
With Ekloire destroyed, they couldn't risk open conflict.
"Shall I rescind that command?" Tomalak inquired.
"Have Taris stall for time. Dispatch the remaining fleet. I want the Enterprise," Aquilo responded. "And I want Iconia."
The two men rounded the corner and prepared to step onto the lift that would take them back to the Bridge.
"Of course, your grace. And we will ensure that any new discoveries are for your glory," Tomalak vowed.
Aquilo feigned innocence.
"Surely, you mean the glory of the Empire?"
Back on the Enterprise, the situation on the Bridge remained tense.
"I will ask you once more. Explain your illegal presence here?" Taris demanded.
She had them dead to rights for violating the boundaries of the Neutral Zone and was not about to back down.
"Why was the Yamato destroyed?" Picard inquired.
"Believe me, if we had chosen to exercise our right to defend Romulan space—we would not have stopped at one starship," she responded coolly.
Being firm was going nowhere fast. Jean-Luc had to try another approach.
"We have no intention of harming you or your ship. We don't want any hostilities," Picard insisted.
"Which is not an answer to my question," she threw back.
Jean-Luc sighed.
He fell back on one last attempt at peace.
"My name is Jean-Luc Picard," he said. Picard brought his hand to his chest. "It was never our intention to violate Romulan space. We were responding to a distress call from another ship."
He paused, pleading with this Romulan to see reason. Jean-Luc truly wanted to believe that most Romulans did not seek war.
"We're not a warship. It is not our intention to harm you. We have civilians and families on board. We only came to rescue another vessel. And I do not fully understand why that ship was here," Picard acknowledged.
Her face soured.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't blast you out of the sky?"
Captain Picard's face softened.
"Please," he said softly. "We don't have to do this. It doesn't have to be like this."
The Romulan woman lifted one dark eyebrow as she studied Captain Picard. There was something unusual and intriguing about his plea for mercy.
"We only seek to recover the survivors," Picard assured her. "We believe some survivors have managed to escape on a shuttle. And there may be more on the surface of the planet."
It was quite a risk to reveal that information to a Romulan. But Picard wanted to appeal to her sense of reason, to a mutual desire to end this conflict before it escalated further.
The Romulan sneered.
"And you expect me to permit you to beam down there?" she scoffed.
It was evident this suggestion had touched a nerve.
"I am Subcommander Taris of the Romulan Fleet. I have been dispatched to protect this planet from Federation interference," she declared.
Taris had strict orders to send any Starfleet vessels she encountered back to the Neutral Zone. Destroying them was considered an absolute last resort. She didn't even wish to fire a warning shot.
It was an odd command, but Taris wasn't one to question orders.
She had stood firm and did her best to bluff.
"I cannot permit you to beam down to the surface. This planet is protected under the Treaty of Algeron Section 13A subsection F," Taris said.
Data knew that one.
He was so excited to finally have an answer to something again that he whipped around too fast in his seat and nearly spun in a complete circle.
"A signatory member may declare a planet off-limits and defend that space through the use of deadly force if the planet is of significant cultural, religious, or historical value," Data said, reciting the statute.
"Provided the signatory has laid claim to such a site and posted adequate perimeter warning," Captain Rixx chimed in.
He was quite familiar with the provision. The Romulans had often tried to use it to skirt around Neutral Zone violations.
"This planet houses a sacred site. I cannot permit you to defile it," Taris said.
"We were not aware of the cultural significance. The crew that beamed down from the destroyed ship were only seeking safety until rescue," Picard said. "We will take them and go."
It wasn't good enough.
"I cannot permit you to beam down there."
Her statement was the truth. Taris had strict orders not to allow anyone on the surface. It was more than her job was worth to bend the rules for a handful of survivors.
"We'd like to simply beam them back. But we are having trouble locking onto their signals," Picard explained. "With your permission, we'd like to send down a transport enhancer field and a team to assist. Once we have recovered our people, we will be on our way."
Subcommander Taris chuckled.
"And allow your agents to leave after they have engaged in espionage?"
Taris wasn't buying Picard's story for a moment.
"We were unaware of—"
"You and I are both aware of the significance of this site. As was your other vessel," Taris said.
Jean-Luc was caught. Worse, he'd been caught lying on the wrong side of the Neutral Zone. Resolved he had no other option, Picard decided to hold his ground.
"We will leave once we have rescued any survivors and determined you are not responsible for the destruction of the Yamato," Picard said.
He wordlessly gestured for Worf to disconnect the channel.
Subcommander Taris stared at the viewscreen of her ship in stunned silence. She could hardly fathom that this Federation interloper had just cut her off.
It was evident this Captain Picard intended to completely disregard her warning.
Reluctantly, Subcommander Taris turned to her Armoury Officer.
"Lock on the forward disruptor array. Target their aft nacelle. I just want to shake them," Taris ordered.
"Aye," he responded, acknowledging the order.
The Armoury Officer locked onto his target and keyed in the appropriate command code to reduce the disruptor output.
"Fire on my mark."
Taris raised her arm. She was about to give the order when the Communications Officer interrupted.
"Subcommander Taris! We're receiving an urgent hail from the Vindicta!"
The Communications Officer turned in her seat to address Taris.
"New orders," she announced.
Taris quickly scanned the incoming message from Tomalak's personal command authorisation code. Reinforcements were inbound. It would only be a matter of time.
Until then, Taris had just had to keep them occupied.
"Stand down," Taris ordered.
The Enterprise and the Thomas Paine were safe—for the moment.
The briefing room was tense as Picard called a joint conference between the senior officers of both ships via subspace communication. They couldn't risk dropping shields to transport aboard.
"Well, they haven't fired yet," Riker said.
"She's alone out here—for now," Captain Rixx chimed in.
All eyes fell on Data.
"Data? How long before we can expect more Romulans?" Picard inquired.
For once, Data felt immense pressure to produce an answer.
"That depends on the proximity of other vessels and their rates of speed. For example, a D'deridex-class cruiser is capable of travelling faster than a Amarcan-class warbird," Data replied. "To calculate the rate of—"
Data stopped himself.
"Our sensors have a limited capability to detect Romulan warp signatures," Data said. "It could be a matter of hours."
They believed the Romulan ship commanded by Taris had largely travelled uncloaked, only cloaking when they drew closer.
The cloak used considerable power, so it was typically only employed when necessary.
"Is it possible they wanted us to see their approach?" Riker asked. "Maybe they were hoping it would warn us off?"
"It is unusual that they haven't fired," Worf said.
"Unless they're waiting for us to drop our shields," Tasha added.
It would be necessary to lower the shields to beam any survivors aboard—leaving the Enterprise vulnerable.
The Romulans were capable of scanning the Enterprise. They would know she wasn't operating at peak efficiency.
Captain Rixx had his own theory.
"She's outnumbered for now. It would be too fair of a fight. Taris is probably stalling to bring in reinforcements."
"Whether it's more ships or a firefight is irrelevant. There could be survivors on the surface. We need to find a way to get down there," Picard said.
Captain Rixx wasn't so certain. He was still concerned this was all a Romulan setup.
"How did they know we were here?" he pressed. "And why no markers?"
Markers were a required designation for any site deemed culturally significant. This planet had no such perimeter warning system.
"They lured us here. And now they will force our hand to make the first move. It's a classic Romulan ploy," Rixx went on.
"I have no intention of making the first move," Picard assured them.
"We've already made the first move, sir."
It was Tasha that spoke up. Jean-Luc nodded for her to continue. Tasha scooted forward in her seat and cleared her throat.
"We crossed the Neutral Zone," she said. "Our very presence here is provocative."
As if on cue, the door to the Observation Lounge slid aside. Beverly entered with Deanna. Deanna looked much more at ease than she had before on the Bridge.
"It is provocative," Deanna agreed.
She slipped into her customary seat next to Captain Picard.
"Counsellor? Do you sense something?" Picard asked.
Deanna shook her head in the negative.
"No. Doctor Crusher has administered a sedative," Deanna said.
"It's a neural blocker designed specifically for Betazoid physiology," Beverly explained.
It helped to give Betazoid minds a temporary break from the mental pressure caused by their perceptive abilities.
"My agreement with Lieutenant Yar's assessment is based only on my understanding of Romulan psychology," Deanna shared.
Counsellor Troi wasn't just an empath. She was a trained professional psychologist with a speciality certification in inter-species humanoid relations.
"Sir, would it not be wise to withdraw to the Neutral Zone until we complete our analysis?" Deanna suggested.
"If we leave, we won't be coming back," Picard remarked.
"And the Romulans will be sure to recover every piece of the Yamato for study," Data warned.
"Along with any survivors," Tasha said.
They couldn't simply abandon the Yamato crew.
And there was still the unfinished business of the Corsica.
"Any theories on what Captain Varley meant by that?" Riker pressed.
Picard sighed and shook his head.
"Whatever it was, it appeared to have impacted him," Picard said. "Lieutenant Worf, I want you and Mr Data to determine if the Yamato was destroyed by the Romulans. Lieutenant Yar, work with Captain Rixx. Find the Corsica."
The team rose from their seats and prepared to disperse for their tasks.
All of sudden, the lights dimmed. Air circulation stopped.
Everyone froze and held their breath.
Before Jean-Luc could page Engineering, the lights came back on, and the gentle hum of the ship's environmental system resumed.
With Geordi still in Sickbay, Picard looked to Mr O'Brien. He feared this was a sign of things to come, of the same strange anomalies that had plagued the Yamato in the hours before her destruction.
"It could be the team working on the secondary repairs. They might have momentarily tripped a circuit," Miles said.
Picard quirked an eyebrow.
"I'll still check it out," O'Brien added quickly.
An hour later, power fluctuations continued to plague the Enterprise.
Lights flickered, the environmental systems fluctuated, and doors seemingly opened and closed without warning.
The turbolifts cycled sans riders.
The replicators wreaked havoc on the canteens.
Left with no other options, Miles had opted to run a level two diagnostic. Miles would have preferred a level one diagnostic, but they couldn't risk it.
A level one diagnostic would require taking the shields offline for eighteen minutes. But they couldn't risk lowering them for even a moment now that they were hanging nose-to-nose with the Romulans.
Somehow the Thomas Paine had managed to avoid any mechanical issues.
The problems only made Data and Worf's task to investigate the Yamato more difficult.
But they had one advantage—Captain Varley had dispatched the primary archive of the Yamato's main computer core in the SOS probe.
Though the archive was now hours old, it contained vital information about the Yamato's first few hours in orbit around Iconia.
Data still wasn't fully functioning. He had trouble processing information as quickly as usual and it was obvious to Worf.
Data was part of the way through skimming the logs when he stopped. Data closed his eyes and took a slow, artificial breath.
"Are you alright, Commander?" Worf inquired.
Data's brow furrowed. His head twitched twice. His hand trembled, hovering just above the table.
"Data?" Worf prompted.
"Forgive me," Data replied.
His body jerked. Data's face contorted in pain.
Worf was immediately on alert. He tapped his communicator and paged for Chief O'Brien.
Data opened his mouth to protest. But instead of speech, a slow garbled noise leaked out of his audio output. Data clutched his throat in frustration. There was nothing more infuriating than the inability to communicate.
Data tried to use his tablet to type a message for Worf. To Data's irritation, he could not think of the word he wanted to communicate.
Instead, he gripped Worf's arm tight.
Worf was at a loss for what to do. He was no engineer and knew Data's construction was advanced beyond even Geordi's understanding.
He reached for Data's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Hold on. It will be alright, sir," Worf said.
Miles arrived promptly with his toolkit in hand.
"Oh Lord," Miles breathed when he saw Data.
Miles could tell Data was frightened.
Once more, Data tried to speak. Only a low, mechanical static came out of his mouth. Something was interfering with his communications programme.
"Don't you worry, Mr Data," Miles said, feigning confidence that he didn't quite feel.
"You must diagnose this issue and find a solution," Worf said gruffly.
"I'll do my best," Miles promised.
He clicked open his kit and rummaged for a universal cable.
"Is it alright if I open your cranial access point to hook up a diagnostic tool?" Miles asked.
Data nodded.
O'Brien felt along Data's hairline until he located the panel. He pressed and clicked open with ease. Usually, Geordi took the lead when it came to Data's health. But Miles had been present for plenty of those diagnostics.
Most importantly, Data trusted Chief O'Brien.
Data felt the connection register as it clicked into his positronic matrix. Feeling creative, Data decided to try and access the communication system on Miles's tablet.
Chief O'Brien grinned as an incoming message popped up on the screen.
"Hi, Data," O'Brien said.
Data breathed a sigh of relief.
At least they had found a workaround for Data to communicate.
"Do you think you can walk me through this?" Miles asked.
'Yes' was the message that appeared.
"Right."
Please begin with a system-wide scan. We can then compare it to my last positronic neural scan.
While Chief O'Brien and Data worked to try and repair his audio speech abilities, Worf set off to check on Tasha.
It was after 18:00 hours and Worf suspected that Tasha had not bothered to stop to refuel.
Tasha was in her office chatting via subspace with Captain Rixx.
On the wall, she had projected a holographic map. The search area for the Corsica was vast. Because they didn't know when the Corsica was launched, it was possible they had travelled quite far.
"Assuming that ship is still capable of travelling at maximum warp, the Corsica could be as far out as the Dautron system, the Huponian rings, or even into Pramrax territory," Tasha said with a heavy sigh.
The whole thing made her brain hurt.
"So, why not radio?" she pondered aloud.
"It could be damaged. Or it could have been taken over by hostile mutineers," Rixx suggested.
"Or they don't want to draw Romulan attention," Tasha mused.
Rixx nodded in agreement.
"All equally viable," Rixx remarked.
Tasha folded her hands as she sat back on the surface of her desk.
"We have to find a way to narrow this search area," she said.
"We could try to contact the Corsica," Rixx proposed.
Without knowing if it held friend or foe, both ships had been reluctant to try and make contact. They also didn't want to risk drawing any more Romulan attention.
"Is it worth the risk?" Tasha inquired.
Rixx shrugged nonchalantly.
"The Romulans already know our position. It's only a matter of time before they send reinforcements. Our window to find the Corsica is closing fast," he cautioned.
Tasha couldn't argue with that.
"And if it's been overtaken by a cabal of Romulan spies?" she theorised.
"We open all batteries," Rixx replied.
The Corsica would be no match for the Enterprise and the Thomas Paine. It was neither fast enough to outrun them nor strong enough to hold its own in battle.
"I'll order my crew to begin an emergency broadcast," Rixx said.
Captain Rixx had no sooner disconnected his channel when Worf arrived.
"What's wrong?" Tasha asked, her senses immediately on alert.
"Nothing," Worf lied.
He did not wish to cause Tasha additional stress. And he didn't come without provisions.
Tasha sniffed at the air as the mouthwatering smell flooded the Security office. Her stomach growled. Tasha suddenly became aware of just how hungry she was.
Tasha had planned on dinner with Data (or Data for dinner).
Or both. She mused.
But Worf advised Data was in a meeting with Chief O'Brien. Technically, it wasn't a lie.
"Please tell me you brought extra?" she asked.
"Actually, this all is for you," Worf said as he set the bag of takeaway down on the surface of the desk. "Tofu shawarma, lemon rice pilaf, mint salad, and extra pickles."
Tasha was blown away.
"Really?"
"You must eat to keep up your strength," Worf said with a knowing look. "For your… training."
Following their conversation in the canteen the day before, Worf assumed Tasha was using 'training' as a code word for her pregnancy.
"What are you, my coach now?" Tasha teased.
Suddenly, Worf was all serious. He straightened his posture and stood at a loss for words.
"I… I would be honoured," Worf said in astonishment.
Tasha thought Worf was razzing her. But when she glanced up, she realised he seemed genuinely touched by the ask.
"You'd really do that for me?" Tasha pressed.
Worf brought his hand to his heart.
"There is no higher privilege than to serve as a ghuY'cha for one's own Be'nI' na'yoD," Worf answered.
A Be'nI' na'yoD was an ancient Klingon tradition that meant 'sister in blood.' They were the shieldmaidens of the great Klingon houses.
"Guhya chah?" Tasha asked.
"GhuY'cha."
Tasha confessed that she was not familiar with the Klingon term.
"The ghuY'cha is one of the oldest and most sacred Klingon oaths. To become a ghuY'cha is to promise support and guidance, protection," Worf explained. "I will ensure you are healthy and thriving. Prepared for any contingency. And if it comes to it, I will lay down my life to ensure your success."
Tasha's eyebrows shot up.
"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," she replied with a wry grin.
The Enterprise sparring tournament could get pretty competitive—but it had never been that serious.
Tasha sighed.
"I'll be honest, Worf. Some days I don't know if I can do this. I'm so tired. I feel like I'm way behind where I should be. I don't feel ready," Tasha confessed.
She was, of course, sharing her fears about the upcoming sparring tournament. In past years, Tasha trained for months to be in peak shape for the event.
"Nonsense," Worf insisted. "You are ready. I know you are. And you will be so great!"
Tasha was feeling more sure of herself after that comment. Worf didn't give praise lightly so it was a real confidence boost.
"When do we start?" Tasha asked as she bit into her dinner.
"Assuming we survive this, we will begin immediately with a rigorous regime," Worf replied.
Tasha was keen.
"What do we have in store, coach? Weightlifting? Parrises Squares? Parkour? A little time on the sparring mat?"
Worf's face darkened. He was all business.
"We will begin with yoga and stationary cycling," he explained.
Tasha chuckled. Worf remained stoic.
Tasha stopped laughing. Her face fell as she realised Worf wasn't joking around.
"Stationary cycling?" she asked, her voice jumping an octave.
"And swimming. Perhaps some light water aerobics," Worf added.
Tasha blinked in surprise.
Light water aerobics?
She didn't have anything personal against those activities. They were just rather dull compared to the likes of downhill skiing, rugby, Aikido, and ice climbing.
To Tasha's dismay, Worf snatched away the jumbo Raktajino on the edge of her desk. He replaced it with a canteen of water.
"And you will limit your Raktajino intake."
Data's meeting with Chief O'Brien had been shorter than anticipated.
They weren't even halfway through running a schematic comparison when Data regained the ability to use his audio output.
Miles suggested that they keep working to try and find the cause. At the very least, they could gather as much information as possible in case anything else happened. If Data's condition returned or grew worse, then they would be better prepared.
But Data insisted he needed to get to a meeting with Captain Picard to discuss his findings in the Yamato investigation.
"Keiko will have my head if anything happens to you," Miles warned. "And I'll be none too happy myself."
Data was touched by the Chief's concern.
"Thank you, Chief," Data replied.
However, Data felt it was imperative that he get to the Captain. There was no telling if there would be another issue with his communication abilities and Data wanted to be sure to inform Captain Picard of his findings before then.
He had to in order to protect the Enterprise.
And Tasha.
Captain Picard was surprised by Data's presence in his Ready Room. But there was no time for pleasantries—Data got straight down to business.
"Take a look at this, Captain."
He passed Captain Picard his tablet and pulled up a simulation based on the sensor logs.
"The investigation has revealed that what we witnessed was an uncontrolled and catastrophic matter-antimatter mix. The magnetic seals between the chambers collapsed and—"
"Wait, wait. That's not possible," Picard interjected.
Jean-Luc was no engineer. Nevertheless, he had studied every aspect of his ship. He knew it inside and out and knew enough to understand such a failure was not possible. There were more than a dozen safety protocols in place to prevent just such a disaster.
"Sir, it is possible. Though, a highly improbable series of events must take place for such a result to occur," Data explained.
Captain Picard frowned.
"Do you mean improbable and deliberate?"
"That is possible, but I do not believe it is the case in this situation," Data acknowledged.
It was unthinkable.
Worse, Jean-Luc was worried about what it meant for the Enterprise.
"Data, how could it not be sabotage? There's an emergency release system to dump the antimatter in the event of a seal failure," Picard insisted.
Data nodded solemnly.
"Sensor readings indicate such a dump began, was then halted, and the containment seals dropped," Data said, walking through the timeline. "The secondary power backup did not activate."
"And with communications offline—"
Picard trailed off and shook his head.
"Even if the ship's communications system or emergency alerts had been activated, it is not likely anyone would have had the time to evacuate," Data said.
That did little to ease Jean-Luc's fears.
"So, if the Enterprise encounters a similar problem there will be no warning?" Picard pressed.
Data fell silent but his expression said it all.
Jean-Luc exhaled. He slumped back into his chair and glanced over at the picture on his wall. Donald Varley—the very best of them—had been taken out either by his own ship or his own people.
And more than a thousand others had died in the process.
"A terrible fate for any Captain," Picard remarked.
"Sir, I can find no evidence to indicate the Romulan ship had any role in the Yamato's demise. Whatever caused this catastrophic malfunction—she did it to herself," Data said.
Picard wasn't entirely sold.
"But what about that probe? Varley mentioned they were scanned by something shortly after their arrival. How do we know this isn't some Romulan orbital defence system? A virus?" Picard pressed.
Data perked up.
"Actually, sir, I believe that probe was Iconian," Data said.
It was the small silver lining Data had uncovered during his investigation.
"I found evidence of Iconian code in the Yamato logs," Data said.
"Well, Captain Varley was highly interested in the subject," Picard countered.
Like Jean-Luc, Varley had an interest in archaeology. And he'd spent the better part of the last year on a mysterious (and suspicious) mission to uncover Iconian artefacts.
"No, Captain. The code I discovered was not a part of any report, personal, or professional log. It was embedded within the ship's operating code. The system logs. In some places, the Iconian code overrode portions of the central computer," Data informed him.
"Data, what are you saying?"
"I believe the probe scanned the Yamato and then transmitted a signal prior to being captured by the ship's graviton beam," Data said. "It is possible the probe was an attempt to communicate. The Iconian system may not have been capable of interfacing with our own."
The Iconian system was far more sophisticated than the Enterprise computer. It also operated on a design that was more than ten thousand years old.
"In essence, it would be like trying to play an audio file on a dermal regenerator," Data summarised.
Suddenly, Data's face darkened.
"Mr Data?" Picard prompted.
"It is also possible the Iconian signal was designed to infiltrate and override the Yamato's primary computer core with the intention of disabling or destroying the ship," Data theorised.
The probe may have been a leftover defensive technology. It was possible it interpreted the Yamato's presence as a threat.
"That would require a highly advanced system capable of automated identification and real-time adaptive abilities," Picard said.
"Which would not be out of the realm of possibility for a people capable of creating a facility such as Lantera," Data threw back.
"Point taken," Picard said, raising his eyebrows.
The Iconians had built the doorways, Lantera, and a power source that was essentially a miniature sun. They were as advanced as the Aldean people—possibly more.
"Data, if this device was designed to protect the planet, then why haven't we encountered it?" Picard pressed.
"It is possible the probe that scanned the Yamato was the last one. More than ten millennia have passed since the estimated fall of the Iconians," Data said.
"Is this ship in any danger?"
Jean-Luc had to know.
"With your permission Sssss—"
Data paused.
His voice was replaced by a long, slow garbled noise. Data frowned. He closed his eyes and attempted to identify the issue.
"Sssssir, w-w-wuh—"
Data sounded like a corrupted audio file as he struggled to communicate.
"W-w-we will begin isolating and inspecting each system," Data concluded slowly.
He was relieved to have regained control of his audio output—even if he wasn't fully functioning.
"Pull any personnel you can use. This takes priority," Picard said.
Data nodded.
Before he could leave, Jean-Luc put his hand on Data's shoulder to stop him.
"Data? Are you alright?" Picard asked, concerned about Data.
The Captain was worried about Data's malfunction. But he was also troubled in knowing Data had to experience the accident in Engineering and now this.
Data was hesitant to answer.
"Data?" Picard pressed.
"Forgive me, sir. I am uncertain how to respond," Data confessed. "Chief O'Brien and I were unable to locate any error in my system. I do not know the source of this malfunction, nor do I have any ability to predict if it will occur again."
He sighed.
"I surmise this must be what it feels like for you, sir. For humans. When you experience medical concerns that cannot be diagnosed or unpredictable," Data said. "Though, I suppose not every aspect of the human experience is pleasurable."
Captain Picard flashed Data a sad smile. Only Data could look at it that way.
"I should get back to work, Captain," Data said. "There is no telling if I will encounter another malfunction and it is vital I complete as much work as possible before then."
"Data, I do not want you to sacrifice your own health or safety at the expense of the ship," Picard warned. "If it comes to it, if you sense a problem, I want you to get yourself help straight away. Do you understand?"
Data was touched by the Captain's concern.
"And I cannot begin to tell you what it means to know that you view my safety in the same light as the rest of the crew," Data shared.
Captain Picard saw him.
Data wasn't a tool or a machine. He was a member of the crew. A colleague. A friend.
And he mattered.
"However, I do not need to tell you the slim chance of success we will have in stopping the Romulans," Data warned. "And I want you to know that any decision I make to… forgo that order is not intended to disregard your concern, but rather a desire to preserve the lives of the people I care about."
Data was struck by a peculiar thought.
"Another uncomfortable human feeling," Data said, amused.
"It is my hope that very soon you will get the chance to experience some of the better aspects of the human condition," Picard said.
If Data could blush, he would have at that moment.
"Lieutenant Yar has informed me of your kind offer," Data said.
"Order," Picard corrected. "Now, I can't order you to get married. That's not within my power. But I can order you to get off my ship as soon as we're back in Federation space."
"Acknowledged. And thank you," Data said, departing after a small nod.
In a way, Captain Picard was disappointed that he wouldn't be able to join them. He considered it a great honour that they had asked him to officiate their wedding.
Jean-Luc had always tried to maintain a certain distance from his team. But it was impossible to ignore just how much he cared for this crew.
The team on the Enterprise were just as close as Jean-Luc had been with the likes of Quinn, Crusher, Varley, Keel, and the rest of them.
Now more than half of the old gang was gone.
That loss was what pushed Jean-Luc over the edge. He had to make sure he protected this team. He couldn't stomach losing them.
He wanted Data to have a few of those good memories before everything went to hell.
Because Captain Picard was overcome with a horrifying, unshakeable feeling that disaster was waiting for them just around the corner.
At the end of his shift, Wesley decided to swing by Main Engineering.
Ever since the incident with the Romulans, Wesley had been reassigned from his typical Bridge duties. He wasn't even allowed to assist Geordi, Data, and Chief O'Brien (not that they were working on any special projects either).
There was no time for experimental fun in the lab or research simply for the purpose of discovery.
Instead, Wes had been relegated to one of secondary labs to clean and repair coil fittings, replicator filters, and power packs. It was the kind of menial work typically assigned to interns, cadets, or when someone was put on report.
Wesley knew it wasn't personal.
Officially, he was only an acting Ensign. He'd logged hundreds of training hours on the job in addition to supervised holodeck training. In the last eighteen months, Wesley Crusher had racked up more than five hundred hours of Bridge duty.
He knew that it was nothing close to the hours and training put in by the junior members of the crew—and it was peanuts compared to officers like Data and Commander Riker.
Nevertheless, Wesley couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't pulling his weight.
They'd suffered emergency after emergency. And while the Bridge was in Red Alert, Wesley had been stuck calibrating torque sensors.
And during the situation on Lantera, Wes had been confined to his family quarters while the battle raged just outside the window.
Data and Geordi had been seriously injured. Chief O'Brien was working double overtime to keep things running in their absence.
Wes didn't want to let the side down.
Now that he was finished for the day, Wes took it upon himself to drop by Engineering and lend a hand.
It was all go in Main Engineering as the team on duty worked to complete the repairs from the damage sustained during their last run-in with the Romulans. They were simultaneously running a complete diagnostic to try and rule out any possibility of bearing the same fate as the Yamato.
Wesley didn't wait for permission. He noticed that there was barely a dent in the evening checklist. In an emergency, such routine work took a backseat.
Wesley grabbed a tablet and went to work.
"Isolate the primary backup and run it again. Let's be sure it was just a sensor," Miles instructed.
"Thank you, sir," Ensign Jacobs said before turning back to her workstation.
"And let's get somebody down to start on the deuterium storage, alright? Fetterman? Perkins? Can you handle that?" Miles asked.
Wesley cleared his throat to volunteer.
"Uh… I'll go, sir."
Miles's eyebrows shot up.
"Mr Crusher!"
O'Brien's voice jumped in surprise. He wasn't expecting Wesley to make an appearance.
"I've got another job for you," Miles said. "Fetterman, Perkins, check in with me as soon as you've finished your analysis."
The two junior grade Lieutenants nodded before dismissing themselves.
Meanwhile, Miles waved Wesley over to join him near the alcove that housed the roster for the day. It was just off the main hub and provided a slim bit of privacy.
Chief O'Brien poked his head around the corner to check that they were alone.
"What are you doing down here?" O'Brien asked.
He wasn't angry.
Wesley shrugged.
"I just want to help."
"I know you do," Miles assured him.
He gripped Wesley's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. Miles was keenly aware the last few weeks had been hard on Wes—and he couldn't blame him.
"I can help," Wesley insisted.
"I know you can. It's not… look, we didn't reassign you because your abilities are in question."
Wesley's heart sank as he listened to Chief O'Brien explain.
"I know you were on the Bridge when we faced those Cardassians last year. But you've never been down in Engineering during a combat situation. You haven't been trained for it. Any moment we might have to deal with a dangerous emergency."
Wesley was a bright man, but he had never been in that kind of situation while on duty in Engineering.
"The warp core could go critical. We could have Romulans beaming in here. Disruptors drawn. We're a helluva target down here, Wes," Miles warned in hushed whisper.
"And in case you forgot, I've already dealt with a Romulan on the Enterprise," Wesley threw back.
Wesley leaned in close.
"I can help, sir. Please," Wesley pleaded.
Miles sighed. A pained look crossed his face.
"Mr Crusher, you're—"
"Just a kid, huh?" Wesley finished for him in a bitter voice. "And when you said you had a special job for me, it's what? To get out of here?"
Silence descended on the pair. Miles could see Wesley was hurt.
"No," Miles replied in earnest.
He meant it.
"Wesley, we reassigned everyone that hasn't been trained for this. It wasn't just you. We shuffled more than fifty people—and it wasn't an easy choice," Miles explained. "And it's not just about you. It's about protecting everyone in Engineering. Hell, everybody on the ship."
Miles was exhausted. His eyes were swollen. He was walking stiff. His face, drawn. O'Brien looked older than he ever had before.
"I need to know that everyone in this room has had advanced combat Engineering training. Because if it comes to it, and this room is choked with smoke, or the shield grid starts to fail, or heaven forbid I take the brunt of a blown console—"
Miles trailed off, unable to finish his thought.
"Look, I know you want to prove yourself. I know you're sick of the backhanded comments and the jealousy from some of these folks that think you're just here because of your mum," Miles acknowledged.
There had been no shortage of gossip on that front.
"But the people that matter, the officers in charge of this department, the Captain—they already know. You don't have to prove anything to them. You're a damn fine Engineer, Wesley. Geordi knows you're here on merit. Data knows it. I know it," Miles assured him. "But you haven't had any combat training for this kind of thing. It's a matter of safety."
Suddenly, Wesley felt small.
"Sir, I'm sorry. I get it. I'm sorry for wasting your time," Wesley apologised.
Miles waved him off.
"I am glad you stopped in. I truly do have a job for you."
Wesley dragged his feet on the way from Engineering to Sickbay.
Normally, he enjoyed stopping in to see his mother or checking on his friends. But Wesley still feel right about the fact Geordi was lying unconscious on a hospital cot.
Chief O'Brien had asked Wesley to be there for Geordi.
Miles shared that (more than anything) the rest of them wanted to be there. But duty overrode that desire.
Even Sonya had only been able to drop by for a limited time. Her expertise was needed down in Engineering.
Wesley paused at the end of Geordi's bed.
It was an unsettling sight to see the usually jovial Chief Engineer silent and unmoving. Geordi was still breathing but was eerily still.
Beverly was just wrapping up her rounds when she spied Wesley.
"You can sit down with him if you'd like," Beverly said, coming up behind her son.
"Is he going to be okay?" Wesley asked.
Beverly hesitated.
"He took a pretty strong charge."
The shock had scrambled Geordi's VISOR. And somehow, some way the safety mechanism had not engaged for several agonising seconds.
The VISOR was connected directly to Geordi's brain via neural implants.
Whatever had caused the power surge had scrambled the VISOR device. There was no telling what it had done to Geordi's brain.
"His neural scans are irregular," Beverly said.
She was professional, but Wesley could tell his mother was upset by the tone of her voice.
"Is he in pain?" Wesley asked.
"I don't know," Beverly replied honestly. "We're keeping him sedated. But I don't know if he's in pain right now."
Wesley frowned.
"How can I help him?" Wesley pressed.
"We just have to give it time. The brain is a remarkable organ. We'll monitor his condition and make him comfortable. But we need to let the brain heal itself," Beverly advised. "But one thing I know for sure is that he will benefit from having you here. Talk to him. Read. It makes a difference, I promise."
She paused to kiss the top of her son's hair.
"I'll swing by later and join you both for dinner, hmm?"
"Thanks, mum."
Wesley took up a seat at Geordi's bedside and filled him in on the latest from Engineering. Chief O'Brien had things under control.
"And everyone—I mean everyone—is thinking about you," Wesley said.
Wes paused. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath to steady his nerves. He didn't like that Geordi was silent.
And that silence was a horrible reminder of a dark day.
Wesley leaned back against the wall and turned his head toward the window.
"I can't stop thinking about the Yamato. All those people. Just gone," Wesley confessed.
It felt good to finally admit that aloud.
"I don't want to think about you being gone too," Wesley added.
He sniffled and dropped his gaze to his lap.
"I don't know where I'd be without you, Geordi. You and Data. Chief O'Brien. You took me in. Treated me like a colleague. A friend."
Wesley squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to break down.
"And right now, I'm scared out of my wits. I keep trying to think of what you would do if you were in my shoes. You just keep working. You don't let it bother you," Wesley continued.
Data. Geordi. Riker. His mum.
The whole lot of them.
They didn't break down when things were bad. They just rolled up their sleeves and reported for duty. Riker even cracked a joke or two.
O'Brien was always smiling.
Lieutenant Yar and Worf would razz each other.
"I hope you pull through this, sir. You'll be over the moon when you see how well your team is doing," Wesley added.
Beverly slipped out of Sickbay for a brief break.
She stepped onto the lift and was pleasantly surprised to see Tasha.
"How's Data?"
Tasha nodded quickly and flashed Beverly a small smile.
"Tasha?" Beverly pressed.
"He's… well, he'll feel a lot more comfortable once Geordi recovers," Tasha said.
She was blissfully unaware of the problems that had plagued Data since leaving Sickbay. Regardless, Tasha could sense Data was on edge. He wanted Geordi to give him the once over.
That couldn't happen until Geordi was healed—if he ever did recover.
"You both seemed to perk a bit after your conversation with Captain Picard. Good news?" Beverly inquired.
Tasha blanched.
"No. Nothing," she lied. "Just uh… regular business."
Beverly raised a lone suspicious eyebrow.
"Hmm," she replied slowly. "You've never looked that excited about work. The way you and Data were talking all huddled and excited, I could have sworn you'd been given a month's shore leave."
A nervous laugh escaped Tasha's throat. Her eyes went wide with terror. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to play it off.
"Sorry. Long day," Tasha said.
Beverly looked Tasha up and down.
"Are you feeling alright?" Beverly asked as she felt Tasha's forehead. "You're a little warmer than usual."
"I'm fine," Tasha said, brushing aside Beverly's concern.
Doctor Crusher pursed her lips.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't concerned. You've been different lately. And I'm really worried about you," Beverly said.
"Different?" Tasha squeaked.
Beverly bit her lip and shrugged.
"What do you mean different?" Tasha demanded.
"Well… you're—"
Beverly trailed off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Beverly was no psychologist. She'd had some training (as was necessary for her medical degree), but she wasn't licensed to provide therapy.
In recent weeks, they had all been through one tumultuous crisis after another. Life on a starship was difficult—Beverly knew that better than most.
Tasha had been showing some signs of fatigue and stress. Try as she might, Beverly still couldn't forget that infamous tuna, peanut butter, and hot sauce sandwich incident. To the good doctor, it was a clear sign that her friend was at risk of cracking under pressure.
"I'm worried, Tasha. I'd really like to give you an exam," Beverly settled on.
And with that, Taha reached her breaking point.
Her face grew warm. Her throat went tight. Tasha was humiliated as her eyes began to well up.
"Oh, no, no, no!" Beverly said.
Tasha crumpled against the wall of the turbolift. Beverly was quick to pull her friend into an embrace.
"Is it that obvious?" Tasha sobbed.
"I've been worried for a few weeks," Beverly confessed.
Beverly was worried?
Tasha was aghast.
She had been so eager to pack back on the weight after the prototype suit. In retrospect, Tasha feared that she had been using meals as a way to cope with the stress of the Romulan situation.
It was deeply embarrassing to hear Beverly say she was 'worried.'
Had she really gained so much weight that it was now a concern?
Worst of all, Tasha felt like a fool for sobbing in the lift. She simply couldn't control her emotions. Between the stress from the last few weeks, Tasha's health, and the situation with Data, the floodgate was now open.
"I'm sorry," Tasha blubbered.
"It's fine. You have no reason to apologise."
Beverly used her soothing voice as she rubbed her friend's back. Fortunately, she thought ahead to stop the lift. Beverly was concerned that the sight of the Security Chief breaking down in the lift would do little for morale.
"I'm so sorry. I don't know why I can't st-st-stop crying."
"I feel like breaking down at least twice a day. I had to step into supply this afternoon just to get a moment alone," Beverly said.
Out of options in the lift, Tasha was forced to wipe her nose on the back of her sleeve.
"I promised to drop dinner off for Wesley. But why don't you and I get a cup of Raktajino after that, hmm?" Beverly suggested.
Tasha chuckled.
"I'd need a clean uniform first," Tasha replied.
Then she got serious.
"I probably shouldn't. We're hanging nose to nose with that Romulan ship. I'm just on my way to check in with Commander Riker," Tasha said.
Never in all her years did Tasha think they could face a Romulan ship and go about business as usual. Six weeks prior, it would have been all hands to stations.
Tasha would never have dreamed of stepping foot off the Bridge if there was even a whiff of Romulan activity.
Now, they were so damn accustomed to the Romulan threat that it was a constant state of being—and that meant business had to continue.
"Strange, isn't it?" Tasha said in a faraway voice.
Beverly sighed heavily.
"To be honest, it feels an awful lot like what things were before," Beverly said.
Tasha didn't follow.
"I mean with the Klingons. Before the Second Khitomer Accords."
Most of the crew had still been children then. Of the senior officers, only Captain Picard, Data, and Beverly had been in Starfleet at the time.
"Twenty years ago, well, it was like this all the time," Beverly shared. "It's part of why Jack and I waited to have Wesley."
Tasha was listening, but she was staring off at the wall.
"I hope this doesn't become our new normal," Tasha said.
Beverly squeezed Tasha's hand.
"Tell you what—if we're both still here tomorrow, drop by Sickbay. I'll have a Raktajino waiting. And I'd really like to give you a quick check," Beverly said.
Tasha remained silent.
"I know you don't like going to Sickbay. But you're overdue for your physical. Normally, I get to work those scans in when you drop in needing a bone set or a joint popped back into place."
Doctor Crusher chuckled and shook her head.
"But it's been months. And while I am beyond relieved that you've not been your injury-prone self as of late, I must confess I miss seeing you," Beverly said.
That was enough to earn a smile from Tasha.
"Alright. I'll stop in tomorrow, okay?"
Tasha figured it would probably be a good idea to get a physical before jetting off to Føroyar just to make sure everything checked out. Tasha would hate to leave only to run into delays due to an overdue vaccination. There were medical protocols for any travel.
"See you tomorrow then."
Beverly hopped off the lift and stopped in at her quarters to snag dinner for Wesley. She punched in a family favourite and then slipped away to freshen up.
It had been a long shift. There was no telling when Beverly would get the chance to pop back to her quarters. So, she took a brief shower and changed into some fresh clothes.
Even just three minutes under the water and a fresh pair of socks did wonders for Beverly's frayed nerves.
She pulled her boots back on and reached for the replicator tray.
Beverly frowned.
Damn.
She must have been so tired that she keyed in the wrong code. Beverly quickly rematerialised the meal to try a second time.
But instead of producing Grandmother Howard's hotpot, the replicator had conjured a pan of enchiladas.
"Now that should not have happened."
Commander Riker shifted in his chair.
Well, technically not his chair.
For the moment, Riker was in the big chair.
Captain Picard was in his Ready Room just off the Bridge. With all the activity on the ship, Captain Picard had been in and out of meetings for the last hour.
That meant Commander Riker was holding things down on the Bridge.
The Romulans hadn't done anything—so far.
That in and of itself was almost more unsettling than if they'd opened fire.
Commander Riker was doing his best to remain calm under the circumstances. He knew the crew looked to him for guidance. It was important that he keep a stiff upper lip so that they trusted in his leadership and, by extension, in Captain Picard.
The Romulan situation had escalated with the arrival of Taris and her ship.
That meant the investigation into the saboteur and all of Riker's work on the morale front was on hold until further notice.
Lieutenant Jae was sitting in at Operations and Hawk had been tapped for the helm. Lieutenant Hopkins from the Astronomy lab was on the science station.
Will Riker trusted these officers. They were fine people. He'd been to hell and back with Jae and Hawk a dozen times.
Yet, Riker couldn't get comfortable.
He missed his team. They were scattered about the ship—and their absence was even more profound under pressure.
Deanna was up to her eyeballs in therapy triage.
Data had his work cut out for him with all the repairs. Will had faith in the abilities of Data and Chief O'Brien, but it still felt like something was missing in knowing Geordi was laid up in Sickbay.
Tasha had gone to check the progress of her team. They were gearing up for any possible contingency—including a Romulan firefight.
To minimise panic, Tasha had covertly dispatched her Security forces throughout the ship to guard critical areas.
At least Worf was present on the Bridge. He was manning both the Tactical and Communications systems. It wasn't easy given their present position.
"Anything yet, Mr Worf?" Riker pressed.
"Sir, the Romulan vessel has demonstrated no change in position, power output, or sensors," Worf reported.
He looked up from his station.
"They are maintaining regular sensor sweeps of our vessel. Likely for the same purpose. There has been no further attempt at communication."
Will grumbled as he shifted in his seat.
He wasn't surprised that the Romulans had made no attempt to contact them. Most Romulans believed non-Romulans were beneath them. They wouldn't lower themselves to open a channel.
"I'm surprised they even answered us the first time," Riker admitted.
"You and me both," Worf agreed.
The lift door slid open, and Tasha stepped off to take her place at Tactical. Riker visibly relaxed as she sidled up to the railing.
"How's it going?"
"We've discreetly deployed teams to a number of key areas—the Armoury, Main Engineering, the shuttlebays," Tasha said.
She rattled off the list for Riker and he was pleased with the progress.
"Let's hope they all have a boring shift," he replied.
Tasha grinned.
"Aye, sir. Anything happen while I was gone?" Tasha inquired.
"Not a thing," Riker said.
"They're just… sitting there," Worf growled with frustration.
Subcommander Taris rapped her fingernails on the armrest of her chair.
Tick.
Tock.
Taris was not a patient woman. She was a Romulan of action, of decisiveness. Waiting around for orders was hardly the assignment she'd expected when she was first dispatched to see to the Starfleet matter.
Subcommander Taris wasn't looking for a fight.
She simply wanted to send these Starfleet vessels off—one way or another.
Just two days earlier, these same Starfleet ships had been responsible for some of the worst devastation the Romulan Empire had seen in the last decade.
Ekloire was the deadliest single-day disaster for the Romulans since the Tegra offensive where 300,000 Romulan troops had lost their lives securing a few kilometres of swampland in a fight against the Breen.
A further two hundred personnel were executed for their role in the plan.
Ekloire would be remembered as one of the greatest failures of modern Romulan military history.
That was why Taris was so concerned about the Starfleet ships. She wanted them gone. She wanted to ensure they would never get their hands on any more advanced technology that could be used against the Romulan Star Empire.
She was accustomed to strange orders. Working for Tomalak included long hours, unusual assignments, and a need for discretion.
But Taris had served in the Romulan Fleet long enough to know regime change could be swift. She feared the sudden reversal in policy and delay signalled there was a problem at the top.
If Tomalak's gamble didn't pan out, Taris had no doubt that General Morak would exact his vengeance on anyone even remotely associated with Tomalak's faction.
Because if there was one thing Romulans were good at—it was a good old fashioned power grab.
Tomalak had enthusiastically aligned himself with Morak's Black Eagle movement because he recognised the potential for advancement. He towed the party line. Tomalak positioned himself as a key member both in the senate and by uniting his own house to the Imperial family through marriage.
Yet it was no secret that Tomalak was merely biding his time, waiting to make his move against his rival, Morak. The disaster at Ekloire was the perfect opportunity to bring about the General's downfall.
Taris was ready. She had served Tomalak faithfully for many decades. She was honoured to have been given such an important assignment.
Tomalak was playing a dangerous game of poker. He had built a nice hand for himself and now it was time to show his cards.
And pray Morak wasn't holding a royal flush.
"Two ships. The Enterprise and the Thomas Paine," Tomalak reported.
"You are certain?" Aquilo pressed.
They had to be sure.
The loss of Ekloire and Lantera had come as a complete surprise. Aquilo still wasn't quite buying the excuse that only three Federation ships had been responsible. He was worried there were more out there.
"I want them captured and questioned. I want to know exactly how they found out about Ekloire. And then I want them publicly tried," Aquilo ordered. "I'll drag Picard and that blue bastard through the streets of the capital city in irons before we broadcast their execution."
He squared his shoulders and straightened his collar. Captain Rixx had been a thorn in Aquilo's side for years. He was well-known among the Romulan military for his clever ability to avoid entrapment.
Picard and the Enterprise would be the cherry on top. A triumph for the ages.
"Ekloire will become a rallying cry for our next round of conscripts," Aquilo said with a devious grin.
Tomalak cleared his throat.
"Permission to speak freely, your grace?"
Aquilo nodded.
"The capture of these ships would prove a valuable bargaining tool," Tomalak pointed out.
They could ransom the hostages back to the Federation for supplies, grain shipments, raw materials like dilithium, or even technology.
"This presents a unique opportunity. They won't be able to resist saving their people. All we need to do is name our price," Tomalak urged.
Aquilo scoffed.
"We're not pirates. We don't haggle for what we want—we seize it."
"Of course, my lord," Tomalak responded.
He dropped to a low bow.
"Forgive me, my lord. You know what is best. I was merely attempting to find a way for you to supply such resources without reliance on the General," Tomalak said.
It was a suggestion disguised as an apology.
Though Aquilo was Emperor, Morak retained control of the metaphorical purse strings—and not just for the Pelorus family's wealth.
In his role in the Senate, Morak had control over official state resources and appropriations. Aquilo couldn't so much as refurbish his wardrobe without begging Morak for an allowance.
"All the information located on the Enterprise computer would be worth quite a bit to any number of interested parties," Tomalak went on.
He smiled.
"We don't need to haggle if we were selling secrets to the Cardassians or the Breen. You could have Duras in your pocket."
And your uncle in a cold cell.
"Imagine what you could do free of the burden of that religious zealot and his good-for-nothing bastard," Tomalak went on.
Aquilo took the bait.
"The people will cry for justice. They will want someone to blame for the Ekloire disaster," Tomalak said, driving home the point.
There would have to be accountability. Morak was the perfect target—and not just because Tomalak wanted to see his rival fall from grace.
In destroying Morak, they would cut the metaphorical head off the Black Eagle movement. Tomalak was poised to step in and fill the gap that would inevitable follow that power vacuum.
Up until now, Morak had been far too protected. He had powerful allies among the aristocracy and enjoyed wide admiration from the common people.
Even his bastard daughter had enjoyed her own spotlight as a member of the Imperial family.
Sela represented everything Morak's Black Eagle movement stood for—Romulan supremacy. She was living example that all other peoples would be conquered. They would accept oppression and serve the Empire or perish.
And as the daughter of Astradis, Sela was a quasi-religious figure that was an important symbol for deeply religious serf class. Though the aristocracy snubbed Sela, they had to begrudgingly accept her presence.
Sela was a greater threat to Aquilo's rule than even Morak himself.
"You could be rid of him. And her," Tomalak urged.
Aquilo's face soured. His enthusiasm for the plan was only fleeting.
"I'll never be rid of her," Aquilo said.
He glared up at Tomalak.
"Not until your daughter gives me an heir," Aquilo said in a cold voice.
Tomalak's mouth went dry.
"I am sure that she will be with child soon. The Divines have blessed you, my lord."
"The Divines have blessed me," Aquilo shot back. "I am not the one that has displeased them."
He had dedicated his life to the Empire—building shrines and education houses, devoting his time to religious study, and serving the people.
"I know I'm not the problem. I have bastards," Aquilo spat.
It was a weak excuse and they both knew it.
Though Aquilo boasted about having fathered dozens of children through various liaisons, there was no evidence it was true.
No one had come forward to seek a claim (which would have been expected) nor could anyone recall any children that stemmed from these affairs.
Aquilo's infertility was the result of generations of inbreeding. The gene pool of the Romulan aristocracy was about as shallow as a puddle.
Aquilo's wife (Tomalak's daughter) was equally as infertile. In recent decades, it had become increasingly fashionable for Romulan elites to take in a serf child, train them up with lessons in elocution and deportment, and pass them off as a recently discovered illegitimate child.
But for the hardline Black Eagle movement believers, such a practice was unthinkable. Aquilo couldn't bring himself to pollute his bloodline with a serf imposter.
All of which was one more reason why Morak and Sela were a threat.
By her very existence, Sela represented a much-needed influx of healthy new genetics to diversify the Paliurus bloodline.
The only saving grace of her half-human ancestry was the fact her mother was revered as the living embodiment of an ancient Iconian legend.
They would have preferred a Romulan Astradis. But as Aunt Ramdha was keen to point out, the Divines worked in mysterious ways.
"Then what do you intend to do with them?" Tomalak asked.
"If this all goes well, my uncle's trial will begin as soon as we return."
Aquilo would ensure Morak was found guilty. It would be too great a risk to allow him to survive.
"And your cousin?"
Aquilo sighed.
"If your daughter can't give me an heir, then I will have to look to my cousin."
Aquilo flopped down on the sofa and kicked his feet over the edge.
"I'll wed her to whatever Romulan family makes the best offer. Or, to whoever I want to punish. I haven't made my mind up yet," Aquilo mused aloud.
As soon as his cousin produced a child, Aquilo planned to swoop in and pluck it right from her breast. Aquilo would shape that child just as Morak had done for him.
"And if, through some miraculous wonder, that barren, bovine-face bitch I call wife manages to squeeze out a child, then I'll ship my cousin off to Duras and be done with her," Aquilo said.
Sela would be no threat in the Klingon Empire.
Tomalak masterfully hid his grimace at the way Aquilo spoke. Tomalak loathed to hear his daughter disparaged like that.
But power came at a price—and Tomalak had long ago resigned himself that arranging the marriage between his daughter and Aquilo was well worth the cost of Aquilo's barbs.
"Very wise, your grace," Tomalak said with a bow.
Aquilo leaned back against the pillows as he sipped on a glass of wine.
"Dispatch a squadron of cruisers. I want to capture the Enterprise," Aquilo ordered.
Captain's Log. Supplemental.
As happened with our sister ship, the Enterprise has begun to experience a series of system failures. So far, they are random. But I fear they could be early symptoms of what happened to the Yamato.
"Computer, end log."
Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
It was nearly 20:00 hours.
Engineering was at a loss for the cause of the strange power fluctuations, system malfunctions, and anomalies that plagued the Enterprise.
An hour earlier, Jean-Luc had ordered Data to tear into the Yamato's logs to explore his theory about the Iconian probe that had scanned the Yamato prior to her discussion.
Thus far, the problems had been limited to things like lighting and the replicators. But Jean-Luc feared there was worse to come.
All it took was a shield failure or a temporary lapse in the backup routing for a shuttlebay to suddenly open or a critical environmental system to lock out.
Captain Picard had ordered all shuttlebays sealed as a temporary precaution. Major lounges that featured large viewscreens protected by a force shield were also off limits. The emergency protective barriers that sealed Ten Forward had been implemented, protecting the area in the event the 'windows' suddenly failed.
Even the Bridge had sealed the viewscreen.
Fortunately, the Bridge had a projector that could transmit real-time imagery to mimic the viewscreen itself.
Ten Forward did not—and it did little for the ongoing morale crisis.
And the Romulans had still made no attempt at communication.
They were just sitting there as if waiting for the Enterprise to self-destruct from whatever unknown force had torn apart the Yamato one system at a time.
Captain Picard rested his elbow on the desk as he massaged his forehead.
He longed for a way to go back in time and stop Varley from ever leaving. What he wouldn't give for five more minutes with his old friend.
Jean-Luc glanced at the picture on the wall.
"Just to tell you what a foolhardy idiot you are," Picard grumbled as he rose from his seat. "Chasing a dream. A fantasy. Glory!"
Jean-Luc scoffed. He began to pace in front of his desk, his hands swinging wildly.
"I hope it was worth it. And I hope there is some sort of divine afterlife just so I can tell you that I TOLD YOU SO!" Picard roared at the photo.
If only Varley had listened then they could have stuck together, stopped the Romulans, or saved the personnel on the Yamato before it was too late.
Infuriated, Jean-Luc picked up the paperweight on his desk and hurled it at the wall.
The old photograph of a young Jean-Luc and friends fell to the floor and shattered—and that was just fine by Jean-Luc. It seemed only fitting given the way things had ended for half the people in that photograph.
Picard stormed across the room fully prepared to pick that old frame and chuck it back at the opposite wall to finish the job. It would only be a matter of time before the Romulans got to the rest of them.
But when he bent down to pick up the frame, Picard couldn't find it in himself. Instead, he pulled it to his chest. He slid down against the wall and wept.
"I'm sorry I didn't stop you," he sobbed as he clutched the photo against his body. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
Picard felt like he had failed—and he was terrified it would happen again.
At the cost of my team.
Picard resolved that was not going to happen.
Jean-Luc was still sitting on the floor when the comms channel pinged. It was Commander Riker.
"Sir, the Romulans are hailing us."
Captain Picard swept onto the Bridge a moment later. There was no sign of his anger and grief. As he took up his seat, Picard was the picture of pristine poise.
"Patch in Captain Rixx," Picard ordered.
He wanted to ensure Captain Rixx was also present for the conversation.
"Already standing by, sir," Worf answered.
"On screen."
Commander Taris appeared on video feed looking as if she had just ingested something sour. She did not like to be kept waiting.
"It's about time," she sneered.
"Forgive me, Subcommander. No insult was intended," Picard shot back in a voice that indicated anything but.
On the back of the Bridge, a look passed between Worf and Tasha. They could hear the change in the Captain's demeanour.
"How may I be of assistance, Subcommander?" Picard asked.
Taris was visibly jarred by this question.
The very notion! She fumed internally.
"You are hereby ordered to surrender. There will be no terms. You will surrender your ship and your crew immediately," Taris explained.
To everyone's surprise, Captain Picard looked amused.
He flashed Taris a rare smile and chuckled softly.
"And who says you Romulans don't have a sense of humour," Picard remarked. "I do appreciate that we can be jovial with one another given the serious nature of this encounter."
Worf thought the Captain had finally cracked under pressure.
Tasha was hoping Picard was aiming for a 'charm and disarm' tactic.
"You will surrender your vessel! You will stand down!" Taris hissed.
"That isn't going to happen," Picard said, rising from his seat.
On instinct, Tasha glanced down to check the shield grid. Her hand hovered above the console in anticipation of bringing the phaser banks online.
"This is not a negotiation!" Subcommander Taris shook with anger. Her face flushed. "You have violated the Treaty between your Federation and our Empire. You will surrender."
"No," Picard responded simply.
"I am warning you, Picard. Failure to comply with my orders will result in—"
"Oh, fire your disruptors then," Picard said, waving her off.
He quirked an eyebrow and threw out his arms.
"Well, we're waiting," Picard said.
Nothing happened. In fact, the Romulans hadn't even brought their disruptor cannons online.
"You have two minutes to surrender, or I will—"
Taris saw red as Captain Picard cut her off. Again.
"We both know you aren't going to fire. Otherwise, you already would have. I suspect you have orders to take us alive," Picard said. "And you're out here by yourself. Because if you weren't, your friends would be decloaking right now."
Picard turned his back to the viewscreen. He then folded his hands behind his back. It looked like a casual move, but it was intentional and designed to throw Subcommander Taris off balance.
Picard was taking a move from the Romulan playbook. It was a power play—just like the Romulans that hid their appearance from 'lesser' people that were deemed unworthy of a face-to-face conversation.
"By my count, I have two ships to your one. You're out here alone. I'm the one with backup, Subcommander. So, go on then. Fire."
Taris's silence spoke volumes.
"Right then," Picard said brightly. "Unless you have something productive to discuss, I am quite busy."
"You will not be harmed. You have violated Romulan space. I have claimed custody of you and your ship under the Treaty of Algeron," Taris announced.
She felt sick having to explain herself to a human.
"Surrender."
"Not today, I think," Picard replied in a smooth voice.
Tasha braced herself in preparation of a blast from the Romulans. But the sensors still showed no signs of disruptor activity.
"Why don't you scurry on back to your superiors and tell them Jean-Luc Picard isn't going to come quietly. You will not be taking his ship. In fact, if it comes to it, you will not be taking any of us alive," Picard declared.
Jean-Luc would issue an order to disperse a deadly chemical through the air filtration system if necessary. It was fast-acting and painless.
Better than Romulan captivity.
"Do feel free to hail us again if you would like to discuss your surrender," Picard said.
He wordlessly signalled for Worf to disconnect the channel.
Captain Rixx was the first person to find his voice.
"Was there some sugar in the Earl Grey?" Rixx asked dryly.
"They're not taking this ship," Picard replied.
He turned to his team.
"Number One, I want you to coordinate with Lieutenant Yar and Mr Worf. All Security personnel are now on duty until this thing is over. Work out a rotation to ensure they get proper breaks."
There was no telling how long the standoff might last.
Riker may have responded with an enthusiastic 'yes sir' but he couldn't have felt more uneasy. Nerves were already frayed.
"I want our phaser banks and photon torpedo bays online. Both the primaries and the backups."
Picard paused and leaned in close to speak quietly with the trio.
"And let's find work for anyone that was on your suspect list. Something where we can keep them away from any communications or key systems. Ideally someplace we can also keep an eye on them," Picard whispered.
All of that work meant Tasha would need to step away from the Bridge. Usually, Worf was on hand to slip in for her. But with both of them needed off the Bridge, Tasha would have to delegate.
"Sir, with your permission, I'd like to dispatch Security teams to the Armoury and the Battle Bridge," Tasha explained.
If things got too hot, they would need a team already in place if they had to evacuate to the Battle Bridge.
"Make it so," Picard ordered.
The lift ride down to the Security Office was tense.
Riker kept swinging his arms back and forth on the lift. He subconsciously hummed a tune to think about anything other than the rising sense of dread in his gut.
Worf was as stoic as ever.
Tasha felt an odd fluttering sense in her abdomen. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before when it came to nerves. Tasha instinctively clutched her stomach, hoping to quell the feeling—it did not go unnoticed.
"The Romulans will call for backup," warned Worf.
"Yup."
Tasha had no doubt of that.
"They will eventually open fire."
"Mmm hmm," Tasha agreed, nodding.
"We will all perish," Worf said as if he were discussing something as mundane as lunch.
"Probably," Tasha agreed without tearing her eyes away from the lift door.
Riker breathed a sigh of relief when the lift stopped. The doors swung open, and he was quick to exit. Worf and Tasha may have been fine playing the 'cool march to death act.' Riker wanted nothing to do with that.
He'd go kicking and screaming and fighting for life if it came down to it.
On her way off the lift, Tasha stopped. Worf hadn't moved.
"Worf?" she prompted.
Now that they were alone, Worf felt comfortable enough to share his thoughts.
"I must confess that it is disheartening to know that the House of Mogh will die here with us," he said.
Tasha squeezed his shoulder.
"You big softie," she teased.
Underneath all that armour, Worf really was a sensitive soul.
"I would have liked to have seen Data's flower blossom," Worf said, eyeing Tasha with a strange, wistful look in his eye. "To tend to it. To watch it grow. I have no doubt it would be as strong and as beautiful as the birch trees found on Khitomer."
Tasha blinked and nodded slowly.
"Are you alright?" Tasha asked.
Worf sniffled and wiped his eyes.
"Today is a good day to die," Worf said.
Twenty minutes later, Tasha found herself in the reserve torpedo bay trying to fix one of the loading mechanisms.
There had been no Romulan activity—thus far.
The Security team had risen to the challenge. Tasha was impressed they had taken the news of being on call for an indefinite length of time so well. There hadn't been a single complaint. In fact, it was like they were ready and itching for action.
Tasha hoped it was just a sensor malfunction. Yet, she was hesitant to write it off as such given all the mechanical issues in the last few hours.
Tasha got down on the floor and climbed up under the console to take a look.
It was at that moment that she realised just how knackered she felt.
It was late.
It had been a long day.
Hell, it had been a long month.
The lovely breakfast Data had planned for her was probably still sitting on the table abandoned. It didn't feel like their conversation (or lack thereof) had been just that morning. It seemed so far away now.
Tasha was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't hear Data approach.
"May I help?"
Tasha jumped and hissed as her head came into contact with the panel overhead.
"I am sorry," Data apologised.
"No, no. You're fine," Tasha replied as she rubbed her forehead.
Data got down on the floor and slid in next to Tasha under the console. He had been working on the Iconian probe when the Bridge paged to inform him of the problem with the torpedo loading mechanism.
"May I?" Data asked as he reached for Tasha's sonic driver.
"Be my guest," Tasha replied.
She handed over the tool. It took Data less than five seconds to remove the panel and examine the sensor. Unfortunately, the problem with the loading mechanism was not a sensor issue.
"It would appear this station has been impacted by the same malfunction as the other units," Data observed.
"How do we fix it?" Tasha asked.
Data raised his eyebrows.
"That I do not know," he answered honestly.
Data still believed that the malfunctions were caused by Iconian script that had either attempted to interface or override the Enterprise computer.
But the theory was unproven. There was no solution.
Most importantly, Data still had no way to know exactly how this Iconian code had managed to penetrate the ship's central computer system.
The Enterprise had not been scanned by an Iconian probe.
"Not that we know of," Tasha remarked as they discussed the issue.
Data cocked his head to the side as he considered the possibility.
"We shouldn't assume anything. If they could build the doorways, they could probably figure out cloaking technology," Tasha said.
Data paused his investigation. He rolled onto his side so he could look at Tasha properly. It was the first time they had been alone all day since their breakfast was cut short that morning.
They'd had a chance to speak in Sickbay after Data's recovery. But Sickbay was full of people. Privacy was rare on a Starship—especially for the senior officers.
Now, Data and Tasha were finally alone.
Together.
Neither of them spoke. They stared at one another in silence, both struggling to find the right words for the moment.
Data and Tasha knew that they were likely facing the same problem that had destroyed the Yamato. They knew little about that ship's final hours—but Data and Tasha could predict what was to come.
They would find themselves separated. If things got hairy, Data would be needed in Engineering while Tasha was on the Bridge.
Without a solution, critical systems would begin to fail. Bulkheads would seal, blocking travel between various parts of the ship. Communications would follow. The environmental controls were next.
Finally, the magnetic seal in the antimatter chamber would fail.
And then the ship would be no more.
As Data and Tasha stared at one another, they both realised there was a very real possibility it would be for the final time.
There was so much they wanted to say to one another.
"Data, I—"
"Shhh."
Data reached up to stroke Tasha's cheek.
"We do not need to say it. The way I feel for you, the love we share, it transcends words," Data assured her.
Tasha moved closer. She buried her head against Data's chest and clutched his uniform as if Data would float away unless she held on tight.
"I love you," she whispered.
"And I love you," Data replied.
"I know we have to go to the Bridge," Tasha said.
She felt guilty about neglecting their duties to share a stolen moment.
"We will," Data promised. "But not just yet."
He kissed the top of Tasha's head.
"You wanted to tell me something this morning," Tasha said, reminding Data.
Data wanted to break his silence, to gush about how thrilled he was to give up his quarters and move in together with Tasha.
He wanted to sing it aloud.
Because when they returned from Føroyar, they would be returning to a shared home.
But instead of sharing his little secret, Data simply grinned. He remained as cryptic as ever.
"It will take days to reach Føroyar by shuttle. I was thinking we could start with breakfast," Data explained. "And after a little nibble—"
Data's breath was warm against Tasha's neck. She wanted to melt as Data bit down on the shell of her ear. He pressed his lips to the spot just below that ear before working his way down the line of her jaw.
That earned a small noise of pleasure and Data smiled with satisfaction against Tasha's cheek.
"Data. The Bridge," she murmured.
"Not yet," he growled.
"What did you want to tell—"
Data silenced her with a swift kiss.
"Data."
"Later."
There wasn't much room to manoeuvre under the console. Data reached for Tasha's thigh and pulled her flush against his body.
"Tell me," Tasha urged.
"Mmm…once we're on the shuttle. I promise."
Tasha knew Data was trying to distract her with his hands (and he was doing an admirable job). But two could play at that game.
"Data," she husked.
Her foot travelled up Data's pantleg to caress his calf. Tasha clutched the front of his uniform in warning.
"Daaaata."
Data pulled back. He shook his head, grinning.
"No. Because I believe that very soon, you and I will be off this ship and on to the start of our life together," Data said.
Tasha frowned. Data smirked.
Then she pouted.
Data pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
"But what if—"
"I have hope," Data said, cutting her off.
Tasha glanced up to meet his eyes. For a moment, Data's comment hung in the air.
"Hope," Data repeated.
Hope was the very reason they had decided not to rush their nuptials. It was what they had clung to for the last few weeks, the very reason they climbed out of bed in the morning (or middle of the night), and why they didn't question their duty.
Data took hold of Tasha's hands and pulled them to his lips.
"I have hope for tomorrow. And many days after that. All of them with you," Data promised.
Tasha's expression softened.
Before Tasha could open her mouth to reply, Data captured her lips.
"Hope," he echoed as his hands dropped to the small of her back. "Mmm… and dreams."
"Dreams, eh?" Tasha teased.
As he peppered her with a series of tender kisses, Data laid out his plan.
"Dreams. Desires. Ideas."
Tasha giggled.
"Oh, I have ideas, my dear. You may be giggling now. But just wait until I get my hands on you," Data growled.
This only made Tasha laugh harder. She felt like a giddy cadet again trying to squeeze in a snog before her flatmate returned.
"I can't pilot the shuttle to Føroyar if you keep me distracted. We'll never get there like this," Tasha laughed.
Suddenly, Tasha stopped laughing.
There was a sharp intake of breath.
Data peeled back her collar just far enough and bit down on her shoulder.
"I will start here," Data said in a low voice. "And I will not stop until I have tasted every inch of you."
His hands felt divine. Her lips made him swoon.
Tasha twisted her fingers into Data's hair as he continued to work his way over the sliver of exposed flesh their uniforms provided.
Data and Tasha had never, ever—under any circumstances—gotten frisky while on duty.
At least, not since the polywater incident.
Tasha didn't know if it was the stress from the Romulans, the general sense of despair, or the culmination of fear and anxiety from the last slew of crises—but she didn't want Data to stop.
She was overcome by a need for him, by an urge to feel his hands and breath and body pressed against her.
It was primal.
Hormonal.
Tasha had a theory Data felt the same based on the rather pressing matter between them.
She was about to suggest they find a supply closet when Data's deft, beautiful hands ghosted down the side of her torso and over Tasha's hip to caress her thigh. She groaned and Data responded with an appreciative squeeze.
"And as for my ideas, I have a detailed plan for exactly what I am going to do to your—"
"Commander Data?"
Captain Picard's voice erupted from Data's combadge.
Data and Tasha flew apart. Her eyes went wide with fear. Then, she relaxed and flashed Data a hazy smile.
He looked adorable with his tousled hair and swollen lips.
Tasha's face was flushed. She felt warm and cosy nestled next to Data under the console.
"Data, where are you?" Picard inquired.
Tasha brought one finger to her lips to signify he should keep quiet about their little almost tryst.
"I am merely… exploring something on the reserve torpedo bay," Data answered.
Technically, it wasn't a lie.
"Ah! Looking into these malfunctions," Picard said.
Data froze.
The paused did not go unnoticed by Captain Picard's keen senses.
"Mr Data?"
"I am conducting empirical research," Data replied slowly.
Tasha clamped a hand over her mouth to hide a snort of laughter.
"We've encountered some new issues. It would seem our gremlin has found the Bridge terminals and I'd like you to take a look," Picard informed him.
The stations on the Bridge were a higher priority than a single reserve torpedo tube.
"Acknowledged," Data answered.
"I'll see you on the Bridge, then," Picard said.
"Right away, sir."
Data met Tasha's eyes and wordlessly relayed his apologies. She cupped his face and smiled. Tasha understood.
Their stolen moment would have to be cut short.
"We should get up there," Tasha said.
"Just one more before I go," Data said, pulling her close.
In contrast to the urgency they both felt, this kiss was slow. Leisurely.
When they finally broke apart, Data remained close, resting his forehead against Tasha's.
"Føroyar," Data whispered.
"I'm going to hold you to that."
Data sealed his promise with a small peck. And then a few more for good measure. He slipped his fingers between Tasha's as he nuzzled her nose.
Then he pulled back just far enough to study Tasha's face. She looked quite a sight.
Data didn't want to part.
His eyes fell on the red and swollen marks that marred Tasha's pale neck.
"You will need to straighten your uniform," Data advised.
Tasha blushed and bit her lip.
Then she gently smoothed Data's hair. She knew that Riker would take one look at him and know exactly what they had been up to.
"Just one more thing," Tasha said softly.
Data gasped as she palmed the bulge in his trousers.
Data shuddered and whimpered—utterly wrecked—as Tasha pressed just shy of the pressure Data needed to feel.
"Data," she purred.
Data gulped. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember he was on duty, but found his lower half had other plans.
Tasha was satisfied with herself when she felt Data rut against her hand.
"You should probably deactivate before you get to the Bridge," Tasha teased.
"This feeling is… ah," Data managed to choke out. "Tasha…. Tasha you are going to cause… my coolant system cannot—"
Tasha retracted her hand, her touch vanishing just as quickly as it had come. She gave Data a quick peck on the lips.
"Wait until you unwrap what I have for you," Tasha said.
She could practically hear Data's neural net surge. His eyes lit up in anticipation. Data cocked his head to the side. He raised his eyebrows, wordlessly pleading for a hint.
Tasha flashed him a cheeky grin. She leaned in close against Data's ear as if to share a secret. Her warm breath tickled his sensors there.
"Føroyar."
Then Tasha playfully nipped at his earlobe before sliding away.
She offered Data a hand and helped him climb out from under the console. They straightened their uniforms and made quick work of fixing their hair. Data brushed a bit of dust off of Tasha's shoulder. She smoothed his collar.
After a quick inspection, the pair nodded to one another.
They were back to perfectly poised Second Officer and prim Security Chief once more. There was no sign of their stolen liaison.
The reserve torpedo bay was on the lower portion of the ship, and it took several moments for the lift to arrive.
Data stood conspicuously still. To anyone else, it would have appeared he was only standing there. But Tasha knew better. She could tell he was desperately trying to regulate his coolant system—a fact that gave Tasha a sense of pride.
Tasha rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Then she tugged on her uniform and fanned herself with her hand. It was hot and there was something raging in her body.
Something that desperately wanted Data. And an entire family-sized pint of mint ice cream. A jar of pickles. The little pretzel things Miles was always snacking on…
And Data.
Again.
Tasha risked glancing over at him out of the corner of her eye.
She quickly averted her gaze back to the lift entrance. She couldn't risk staring at those bony hips or his stupid, beautiful long arms.
Tasha physically shook her head to try and banish the thought of what those taut arms looked like.
And felt like.
"Tasha," Data warned.
She wasn't doing a great job at hiding her feelings.
Desperate for an excuse to talk about anything else, Tasha asked the first thing that popped into her mind.
In fact, it was something she'd been meaning to ask Data about ever since her strange conversation with Worf earlier and his bizarre comment about Data's seeds.
"Are you growing something in the Arboretum with Worf?"
Data blinked in confusion.
"I am growing a great number of things—Mint, Hyssop, Bantaran tubers, Andorian Wheezewort, Naa'jej blossoms from Narendra III, twelve varieties of roses.."
"Oh," Tasha replied with a polite nod.
The Bridge felt stale.
On a normal day, there were countless tasks that were a part of a regular shift—sensor readings for scientific research and mapping for stellar cartography.
Those duties were on hold.
No one was chatting. No one moved.
The atmosphere was suffocating as everyone waited at their stations.
"Anything happen while I was gone?" Tasha inquired.
"No change," Worf answered. "Systems continue to fluctuate. The Romulans have not moved an inch. And we're still receiving the same looped message from Starfleet."
Tasha snorted with laughter.
Worf responded with a disapproving scowl.
Tasha shrugged. "They're not going to give up."
"No," Worf agreed.
He turned his attention to the Romulan warbird hovering just ahead.
"And neither will they," Worf declared.
Wesley's eyelids began to droop. His head dipped sharply before Wes caught himself.
It was late and Wesley hadn't slept much the night before. He'd spent the whole evening in Sickbay sitting beside Geordi—and he wasn't about to give up and go home.
Wesley had made a promise to stay by Geordi's side for Chief O'Brien.
For Sonya.
Data.
And for all the crew that couldn't be there.
"I was thinking I might get that new Ottoman expansion pack. Next time we play, you'll be no match for my fleet," Wesley said, referencing his Age of Sail cards.
Wesley played the competitive tabletop game each week with Geordi, Sonya, and Lieutenant Barclay. Geordi was a fanatic.
"Once you get out of here, we'll do a whole big gaming night! We'll get takeaway. Worf will make a big cake. It'll be a blast," Wesley promised.
Wesley's smile faltered. Geordi's silence was unnerving.
From her office, Beverly could see Wesley was starting to fade.
"I don't know what else to say," Wesley confessed. "I just really hope you come back soon."
Wesley relaxed as he felt his mother's presence. Beverly squeezed her son's shoulder.
"His vital signs are good. He just needs time. The brain is a remarkable organ."
Beverly wasn't just trying to reassure Wesley—she needed to remind herself of that too. If they had the ability to get Geordi to a proper Starfleet Medical facility, Beverly wouldn't have hesitated to transfer him there.
Geordi's neural interface with his VISOR was as good as opening the door for possible brain trauma in the event of an electrical surge.
"You should get some rest yourself," Beverly advised.
"No. I want to stay," Wesley insisted.
He was hesitant to leave Sickbay. In truth, a part of Beverly wanted to keep Wesley close. If things did lead to a firefight, Sickbay was a designated safe area. It had more protection in place than some of the other general parts of the ship.
But it would also be crawling with wounded. Beverly didn't want to expose Wesley to that horror.
"Why don't you run home for a quick break? You could check on things at home. Water the plants. Grab a shower yourself. Maybe see how you feel after that?"
Beverly had an inkling Wesley would probably crash the moment he got in the door.
"I'll go later," Wesley said.
Beverly quirked an eyebrow down at her son.
"Just a little while longer," Wesley pleaded.
Beverly threw her arm around Wes and pulled him close. He was still small enough that when they stood together, Wes could put his head on his mother's shoulder.
"I would let you stay in the next cot overnight but—" Beverly dropped her voice. "These beds may start to fill up. And you don't want to be here if that happens."
Wesley understood.
"I'll go in a little while. I just want to stay for a bit longer," Wesley agreed.
Beverly gave her son a long hug before turning back to her office. Beverly had already run through a stock check, brought in extra provisions from the medical stores, and worked out a personnel rotation to ensure Sickbay was properly staffed.
The calm before the storm.
Beverly had no sooner reached the door to her office when things started.
"Mum! Mum!" Wesley shouted.
Beverly whipped around just in time to see Geordi stir. He tried to sit up.
"Whoa. Easy. Easy," Beverly said as she rushed back to his bedside.
Beverly squeezed Geordi's hand to let him know she was there.
"You're in Sickbay, Geordi. I'm here."
"I need to speak with Captain Picard!"
Geordi was beside himself. He groaned as he tried to sit up, protesting against Beverly's attempts to keep him in bed.
"Geordi," she said firmly.
"We're all in danger!" Geordi warned. "What happened to the Yamato could happen here."
"It already is," Wesley chimed in.
As if on cue, the lights flickered overhead.
"Wesley? What has happened?" Geordi demanded.
Wes proceeded to outline the series of issues that had plagued the Enterprise—the power fluctuations, impacted computer terminals, and mysterious code that seemed to be overriding the Enterprise controls.
"I… I don't know everything. Chief O'Brien has done a heckuva job keeping me busy elsewhere. But I overhead the team in Engineering talking about it. And it's hard to miss with system malfunctions," Wesley explained.
"We've had our share of it here too. The computers. Some of the medical equipment. The replicators too," Beverly added.
"Anything else happen while I was out?" Geordi asked.
"We're hanging nose to nose with a Romulan warbird," Beverly shared.
"Thanks a lot, Doc," Geordi replied sarcastically.
Of all the times to be out of commission! Thought Geordi.
"Where's my VISOR? I need to get to the Bridge," Geordi said.
He reached to his left, expecting to find his VISOR on the nightstand near the bed.
"Your VISOR was damaged by the energy surge."
"No matter. I need to get the Bridge," Geordi said, waving her off.
Geordi winced in pain as he tried to stand. He suddenly became painfully aware of every fibre of his body—and the way they were screaming.
His head throbbed. His hands were swollen and painful. His feet tingled—painfully so. Geordi felt as if he'd just climbed the length of the Enterprise at a sprint.
Beverly had seen to the burned skin on Geordi's hands and forearms.
"But there's internal damage too. Tissue. Organs. Your nervous system. The human body wasn't meant to handle this kind of electrical surge," Beverly said.
"Just like the Enterprise wasn't designed to handle that Iconian probe. Doc, I have to speak with the Captain. Now!"
Geordi pleaded with Beverly.
"That wasn't just an electrical surge. I think that Iconian probe was a Trojan horse," Geordi said.
Beverly didn't hesitate.
"Crusher to Bridge. Captain, Geordi is awake. You need to speak with him immediately. He has information about the probe the Yamato recovered," Beverly announced.
Up on the Bridge, this news caused a small celebration. They had no inkling of what awaited.
Data's neural net surged.
Geordi has regained consciousness.
Jean-Luc turned to Commander Riker with a small smile.
He was relieved Geordi was alert—and that he had information about the probe.
"How fortuitous," Picard responded. "We were just discussing how further study of such a device might lead to answers about these malfunctions and the fate of the Yamato."
"Yes, Captain but—"
Geordi's warning was cut off by what Picard thought was excellent news.
"We picked up an object on sensors. It was launched from the planet's surface," Picard explained. "We're going to try to capture it."
"Three minutes and forty-six seconds to intercept," Tasha reported.
She was standing by at Tactical to activate the graviton beam.
"Captain, wait. If we bring that probe on board—"
Geordi's warning was disregarded.
"If we don't capture that probe, the Romulans will," Picard concluded.
"No, sir! Wait!"
There was no response.
Geordi understood the Captain's desire to capture the probe for study. It was the logical thing to do. But Geordi had a theory it was the very thing that had caused the catastrophe on the Yamato.
"Captain, do not let that probe scan us!" Geordi insisted.
Beverly's combadge remained silent.
Beverly tapped her communicator. A dark look passed between Beverly and Wesley. The lights flickered overhead.
"The malfunction must be impacting communications," Wesley theorised.
Geordi stumbled off his hospital bed and staggered toward the door.
"Geordi!" Beverly cried.
"I have to get to the Bridge!"
Beverly and Wesley both took off after Geordi.
"Tractor beam is ready, sir," Tasha advised.
"The probe will be in range in three minutes and eighteen seconds," Data added as he monitored its orbital progress.
"Is there any possibility the Romulans were responsible for launching this?" Riker asked.
Data turned in his seat.
"The launch indicates this originated from a facility deep on the planet. It is possible the Romulans retain control of that facility. However—"
Data stopped himself. He didn't want to get carried away.
"Go on," Picard urged.
"Atmospheric interference would make it unlikely the Romulans could communicate with the surface. My scans indicate there is a highly advanced shielding. It is not unlike that employed by the Aldeans."
It had similar properties—and similar frequency fluctuations.
"Iconian legend states the homeworld was lost when it was 'consumed by fire.' The surface of the planet would appear to support that theory as scans indicate evidence of turbulent volcanic activity," Data shared.
Jean-Luc's mind briefly drifted back to his conversation with Captain Rixx and the origins of the mysterious Zhat Vash.
If this truly was Iconia then it would be the most sacred of Romulan sites.
One they would defend at all cost. Picard thought darkly.
"All of which does not preclude the possibility the Romulans have control of any Iconian facility on the surface," Data added.
"Either way—I want that probe. Hopefully, it will have answers for these malfunctions," Picard said.
"One minute and forty-six seconds to intercept," Worf reported.
"Coming through!" Geordi shouted as he rounded the corner out of Sickbay.
He veered left. Using his left hand, Geordi counted each structural panel until he reached panel eighteen.
"Geordi, wait!" Beverly ordered.
Geordi ignored the order. He turned toward the perpendicular junction in the corridor and marched right for the lift.
He had long ago memorised key parts of the ship (including Deck 12 that housed Sickbay) in the event he had to navigate such areas without the use of his VISOR.
As soon as the lift doors opened, Geordi slipped inside. He leaned heavily on the wall for support.
"Bridge."
Beverly and Wesley managed to jump on just before the lift sealed.
"You are in no condition to go anywhere," Beverly said in the sternest voice she could muster.
"There's no time! If that probe—"
Geordi never got the chance to finish his sentence.
The lift jerked. Everyone froze.
Geordi gripped the wall for support and took a series of breaths.
"You said the turbolifts were impacted too?"
"Uh huh," Wesley replied.
They were all too afraid to move. It felt like standing on a precariously perched platform.
Without warning the turbolift dropped. The emergency stop activated, halting their descent after two levels.
The sudden drop was enough to send Geordi, Beverly, and Wesley to the floor.
Geordi groaned as he tried to stand.
"Stay there," Beverly urged.
Wesley tentatively got to his feet to look at the lift controls.
"At least the emergency protocols are still working. That would have been a long drop," Wes said.
After confirming the lift was indeed secure, Wesley offered his hand to Geordi.
"We have to get to the Bridge," Geordi said.
"We could take the emergency access up through the Jefferies tubes. That would get us to Deck 2," Wesley suggested.
Geordi grinned.
"Good thinking."
"You're in no condition to make that climb," Beverly said, clucking her tongue.
Wesley opened his mouth to volunteer. A stern look from his mother shut that down. She could easily send one of her staff from Sickbay to make the climb.
Without warning the turbolift sprang to lift and began to climb.
"Sounds like we'll all go," Geordi remarked as he listened to the gentle hum of the lift.
The lift began its ascent. The lights dimmed and flashed to mark each passing deck. As it climbed, the speed grew more and more rapid.
Geordi's body tensed. He could feel the shift.
"Something's not right."
They were climbing too fast. The lift had accelerated beyond a safe speed. All three occupants could feel the force as it pulled them toward the floor.
"If I could… just…. reach… emergency… stop—" Beverly managed to choke out as she tried to crawl across the floor in opposition to the force holding her back.
Geordi reached for her arm, stopping the Doctor in her tracks.
"The force… could… crush—"
Geordi, Wesley, and Beverly were thrown into the air as the lift ground to a halt. It carried them up into the air before the three came crashing down onto the carpet.
On the other side of the lift, the team was preparing to lock onto the Iconian probe.
"Fifteen seconds to intercept," Data announced.
The lift door slid open. All three occupants tumbled out onto the Bridge.
Data immediately abandoned his station and rushed to Geordi's side. It was a violation of protocol—especially given the situation. But Data wasn't going to wait around when Geordi was clearly in distress.
"Destroy the probe! NOW!" Geordi exclaimed.
Geordi recognised Data's hand. Data gripped Geordi's arm and hauled him to his feet.
"Destroy that probe!" Geordi repeated.
Picard whipped around.
"Lieutenant, lock on phasers. Fire when ready!" Picard barked.
It took but a moment for Tasha to switch from the graviton beam to the forward phaser array. The team watched as the probe blew apart.
"Welcome to the Bridge, Mr La Forge," Picard said.
"Thank you, sir," Geordi said, catching his breath. He leaned heavily on Data just to stay upright. "If that thing had managed to scan us, we never would have had any chance of saving the Enterprise."
"Whoa," Wesley remarked as he spied the Romulan warbird ahead.
It was one thing to read about the new D'deridex class cruisers or catch a glimpse of them from the window of his quarters. It was another thing altogether to see one from the Bridge.
Beverly stepped forward wearing a deep scowl.
"Captain, I need to get Mr La Forge back to Sickbay. And my son to his quarters," she said.
"I didn't mean to come up here, sir. The lift it uh…"
"It's alright," Picard said, putting up a hand to stop Wesley. "Mr Crusher, thank you for seeing Mr La Forge safely to the Bridge. Now, I think it's time you retire to your quarters. The rest of you—my Ready Room."
Beverly spied the shattered glass and broken picture frame on the floor the moment she stepped into Jean-Luc's Ready Room. The frame was leaned up against the wall, obscuring the photo. But Beverly didn't need to look at it to know exactly who was in that picture.
And what they meant to Jean-Luc.
The team crammed into the Captain's Ready Room. Data helped Geordi ease into a chair.
"Are you alright Geordi?" Riker asked.
"I'll survive—at least as long as the ship is still intact," Geordi quipped.
"The Romulans haven't made a move," Tasha said, filling Geordi in.
"Yet," Worf grumbled from the corner.
Data gently squeezed Geordi's arm.
"I am glad you are awake," Data said.
"Me too, buddy," Geordi replied with a small smile.
His entire body was screaming. Geordi wanted to collapse into the chair and not move for another week. But he knew he had a duty.
"That wasn't just a probe. It's transmitting an Iconian computer programme."
Geordi's announcement confirmed Data's theory.
"We detected Iconian code in various ship-wide systems," Data shared.
He proceeded to fill Geordi in, rattling off the areas impacted.
"Our attempts to isolate and purge this code have been unsuccessful," Data said. "I theorise this signal has tried to communicate with our own system software and failed. They would appear to be incompatible."
"Because it's not trying to communicate—it's designed to analyse our system, overtake it, and shut it down," Geordi said.
The room fell silent.
Data cocked his head to the side. His brow furrowed.
"Geordi, how have you determined this?"
"The Enterprise computer is—"
Geordi paused and chuckled.
"Well, I guess you could say it's a lot like our own bodies with voluntary and involuntary systems. About ninety percent of what happens is done automatically," Geordi outlined.
Just as the human body didn't need to consciously process each breath or blink, the Enterprise was largely automated when it came to environmental systems, shield grids, and even the coolant piped through the ship.
"When it scanned the Yamato, it had the chance to simultaneously implant itself into every critical ship system," Geordi went on. "It infected our computer when we downloaded the Yamato's logs."
"That's why we didn't notice anything at first. It had to spread like a virus," Beverly said.
Geordi nodded grimly.
"The Yamato log would have limited the infection to a specific portion of the mainframe," Data said, piecing it together.
"Then how come it's infected all our systems?" Riker pressed.
The malfunctions were growing worse.
"Because it had hours to grow unchecked," Geordi answered.
He sighed and massaged his temples. Headache didn't begin to do justice in describing the pain that gripped Geordi's body.
"This Iconian signal is designed to overtake our systems. To find the fastest way to neutralise any threat," he warned.
"Then it will move into our weapons next," Worf theorised.
"Or deuterium storage. The warp core itself," Tasha chimed in.
She scowled and crossed her arms, shrinking back into the shadow in the corner as she mulled over the possibilities.
Ship's instruments were already erratic. Sensor readings were unreliable. They couldn't rely on automated safety procedures if the coolant went down or the antimatter chamber seals began to fail.
"We're sitting on a bomb that could go off at any second," Geordi cautioned.
"Thanks for sugar coating it," Miles remarked.
Captain Picard was unusually quiet as he stared out the window at the ruddy planet below. The surface was marred by the destruction of the Iconian homeworld. Thousands of years of dust storms and arid conditions had reduced the once-lush planet to dust and ice.
Behind him, the team continued to work on a solution.
"Why do I feel like this is a no-win scenario?" Riker grumbled.
"Perhaps it is because we are forced to choose between facing the Romulans here or returning to face an infiltrated Starfleet. Our only option to retreat provides no guarantee of safety," Data said.
"We're trapped in the Neutral Zone on a ship infected with a virus that's intended to kill us as quickly as possible," Geordi summarised.
Tasha frowned.
"Why not just shut off the life support? All of it. Simultaneously," she asked.
Her question hung in the air. Geordi and Data instinctively turned to one another.
"Maybe the programme isn't ready for that yet," Geordi guessed. "It could need more time to gain control of all the areas and systems impacted."
"There are also significantly more controls and independent, automated safety systems in place to prevent such a measure," Data added.
"And it wouldn't be enough, would it? It would fall short," Miles said.
He had a point.
"It's not just us. It's the Enterprise herself that's a threat. If this Iconian code is intended to eliminate any threat to the planet, then it has to destroy the ship too," Miles explained. "That's probably why it eventually caused the antimatter seals to collapse on the Yamato."
"It had to ensure the ship was destroyed. All of it," Geordi concluded.
And if they couldn't stop it, the Enterprise would face the same fate as the Yamato.
"We can't stay here. We're in no condition to go up against a group of Romulan ships," Riker said.
"We cannot leave and allow the Romulans to control this planet!" Worf countered.
Data found himself in agreement with Worf.
"If there is Iconian technology down there, we cannot permit the Romulans to study it," Data added.
"And we still haven't found the Corsica," Tasha chimed in. "There might be survivors."
Clearly, Varley had wanted them to find the Corsica.
"We can't abandon those people—they wouldn't leave us," Miles said.
Everyone knew that their next course of action came down to one man's decision. And even though he'd been silent, Deanna knew he was formulating a plan.
"Captain?" Deanna prompted.
Captain Picard remained silent at the window.
He couldn't bear to look away. From a distance, Iconia looked so peaceful. It could be any other routine mission of discovery.
A pang of sadness had settled in the pit of Jean-Luc's stomach.
Iconia.
It represented a lifetime of archaeological fascination. There were people that would (and had) sacrificed personally and professionally to chase the legend, just for a chance, a glimpse of what may be out there.
Now Picard had no choice but to destroy it.
The very thought left a bitter taste in Jean-Luc's mouth. He was enraged—both because it was an immeasurable loss and because of what Iconian represented.
Jean-Luc wanted to believe the world had advanced beyond the days of geopolitical conflict. Yet, he understood that it was foolish to think Iconia was anything more than the next step in an arms race.
And the barren surface of Iconia itself was a stark reminder of how that would end.
"Jean-Luc?" Beverly pressed.
"We need to stop the Romulans. Picard declared, his eyes still fixed on the planet below. "We need to find the survivors. Most importantly, we need to ensure the safety of everyone on this ship."
Picard braced himself to receive the outcry of his team.
It must be done.
"There are answers down there," Picard said.
The team fell silent.
"Mr Data, you believe the shield protecting the planet is fluctuating?" Picard asked.
"If you are asking if it is possible to isolate that pattern for the purpose of finding a weak point—yes, sir. I do believe we could, as you say, 'slip through' the shield protecting the planet," Data answered.
"Good."
Picard whipped around and glanced down the line of faces.
His team.
His family.
Jean-Luc would do everything he could to ensure they did not wind up like the last group bestowed that title.
"We're going down there," Picard announced.
"Very good, sir. I'll prepare an away team," Riker said.
"I will lead the team," Picard asserted, much to the chagrin of his crew.
"Captain!" Worf protested.
Commander Riker did his best to keep his reaction in check. It was Data that spoke first.
"I would point out that Starfleet regulations prohibit you from leading the away team while the ship is at Red Alert," Data began to say. "But I know that you will simply ignore regulations."
He paused.
"And I recognise that there are moments when such regulations are cumbersome and, perhaps, better regarded as guidelines," Data added.
Commander Riker coughed to hide his chuckle. Geordi was beaming. The comment was even enough to earn a wry grin from Captain Picard.
"Quite right," Picard agreed.
He cleared his throat and yanked down the front of his uniform.
"Do not mistake this for some misguided attempt at heroism or an attempt to leave you in a lurch. I am sorry about this, Number One," Picard said. "But it's a matter of practicality. I'm the closest thing we have to an expert on the Iconians."
Riker understood. They all did.
"You're the best chance we've got, sir. Good luck," Riker replied.
"Hopefully, I can disable this structure before the Romulan fleet arrives. If I can't, I presume this facility operates on a similar power source as the one you found on Lantera."
"I'd say it's a safe bet," Geordi remarked.
"Good!"
Picard's mood was jovial, but Beverly knew he was maintaining that façade for the sake of the rest of them.
"Captain, you don't have to—"
"Your concern is appreciated, but unwarranted. I'll be fine," Jean-Luc said, feigning composure that he did not feel. "If I can't find a way to shut down the Iconian computer code or deactivate from any future use, then I will destroy the base."
Picard smiled.
"That should be able to take out the Romulan fleet while you hightail it back to Federation space," Picard went on as he gripped Riker's shoulder. "Get these people to the safe planet."
"We're not leaving you," Riker insisted.
"Those are my orders, Number One."
The team turned to one another. Wordlessly, a collective understanding passed from person to person—they could not let the Captain go alone.
"Captain."
Data didn't need to elaborate. His ability to analyse and interpret information was unparalleled. There was no telling what kind of calculations would be needed down there or what conditions they might encounter.
"You're too valuable, Data. I need you here on the Enterprise," Picard said.
"You can't go down there!" Miles protested, looking at Data. "What happens if you have another issue. Another one of these malfunctions?"
Both Geordi's and Tasha's heads whipped around quickly.
"Malfunctions?" Geordi asked.
"Data?"
There was such a pang of hurt in her voice that Data couldn't bring himself to meet Tasha's eyes.
"Of course, the Iconian virus. It must have infected your system too," Geordi said, piecing it together.
It was unsettling thought.
"That would explain all the malfunctions with your communication system. Your neural net," O'Brien theorised. "If it were any of us and we were injured, we wouldn't risk it!"
"Quite right," Beverly agreed.
"Sir, if the same communication issue we experienced earlier were to occur down there—" Worf trailed off.
Tasha dropped her gaze to her lap as she picked at her fingernails. It seemed everyone knew about Data's scare—except her.
"Captain, none of our efforts will matter unless we can stop this Iconian computer programme and the Romulans," Data pointed out.
Indeed, the fear of another repeated malfunction like earlier was on the forefront of Data's mind. He knew that the best hope for the Enterprise (and himself) was to get down there.
For several agonising seconds, Data and Captain Picard stared at one another. Jean-Luc hated that Data was right.
"Sir, Starfleet regulations also require that a Security detail accompany the away team," Tasha said as she stood to join them.
At this, it was Worf that blustered.
"Unacceptable," he barked.
"I'm afraid I have to agree," Picard said.
Tasha was at a loss for words. She was so irate that she fumbled for an answer.
"The biggest Security priority right now is everyone on this ship," Picard explained. "If we manage to stop this virus, I need to know someone is on board keeping the peace."
He sighed.
"As you said, things are going to get ugly. And there's still the matter of a compromised Starfleet waiting just over the border," Picard went on.
Commander Riker was an admirable and capable officer. But they were facing the unknown.
"Nobody knows covert operations like you, T," Riker said, endorsing the Captain's decision.
Tasha silently pleaded with Data to speak out, to say something to counter the Captain's order.
Data remained silent.
Tasha said nothing as she watched Data slip on his phaser holster. The mood in the armoury was subdued. Neither had said a word since departing the Bridge.
Data checked to ensure he had a spare phaser power pack and that it was set to the correct frequency. Then he slipped it into his belt and clipped his tricorder on the opposite hip.
"In the event that we are—"
"Don't."
Tasha was furious.
She was outraged by the situation, frustrated by their inability to stop it, and angry with herself for lashing out at Data.
Data reached for Tasha's hands and pulled her in close.
"I would stay in this moment with you if I could," Data confessed.
Tasha remained quiet. There was a lump that had formed in her throat, one that was making it difficult to express herself.
They stood in silence for several minutes with their foreheads pressed together. Data closed his eyes and denoted to memory the sound of Tasha breathing.
It was in that moment that Data came to realise a newfound sensation. They had faced deadly missions before. There was always the possibility one or both of them would not return.
In contrast to his usual analytical way of thinking, Data found that survival statistics and mission factoids faded to the background.
Data couldn't even begin to calculate possible mission outcomes—he was still struggling to process the last few days.
The reality of the mission (and the risk) hadn't really hit yet.
There were so many things Tasha wanted to say. Her mind was a jumble of memory, emotion, and promises. And she couldn't bear the thought that Data might leave thinking their last moments had been shared in anger.
Tasha should have known that she didn't need to say anything.
"It need not be spoken aloud," Data whispered.
Data clutched the back of Tasha's head and kissed her brow. Data slipped his fingers through her own and brought Tasha's hand to his lips, pressing a second tender kiss to the back of it.
Then he slipped away toward the door.
"Data, wait!"
Data pulled her into his arms. Tasha buried her face against Data's chest as she tried to cling to what very well could be their last moment together.
Data said nothing, he simply tightened his embrace.
A part of Tasha was embarrassed. It was out of character to be so emotionally charged during a high-stakes mission.
The culmination of the last few weeks, the conspiracy, and all the death and destruction was enough to make anyone's resolve crumble.
"Come back to me," Tasha said.
Data slipped two fingers under Tasha's chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"I will only make such a promise if you agree to stay safe up here. It would be a shame if you were to injure yourself on the eve of our departure to Føroyar," Data said with a small smile.
Data and Tasha emerged in the corridor a moment later. They met up with Worf and Captain Picard outside of the Security Office.
There was no trace of their emotional farewell. Outwardly, Data and Tasha were the picture of professional duty.
"Chief O'Brien and Mr La Forge are already in the Transporter Room working to isolate the frequency," Picard said.
He dropped his eyes to the heavy case that Data was carrying by the handle.
"Protective suits," Data answered, anticipating the Captain's question. "If the facility below is anything like Lantera or the Aldean homeworld, it is likely we will encounter significantly hazardous levels of ionising radiation."
Captain Picard and Data made their way down the corridor in deep conversation about what to expect.
In contrast, Worf and Tasha were stiff as they followed.
"I am pleased you will be aboard the ship," Worf said.
He understood how difficult it was for Tasha to stay aboard when Data and the Captain were beaming down to the planet.
"I will keep him safe," Worf promised.
"Bring him home," Tasha replied. "Both of them. Yourself too, you hear me?"
She clenched her fists to stop them from trembling.
Suddenly, Worf stopped and turned to Tasha. He checked to ensure they were alone.
"Tasha, I will do everything I can to keep Data safe. You have my word. On my honour as a Klingon," Worf assured her. "It is my duty as your second, your friend, and your ghuY'cha."
Worf's face softened.
"I must. For soon the House of Mogh will welcome another."
Tasha's eyes went wide.
Føroyar was their secret. They hadn't shared their wedding plans with anyone except for the Captain and Geordi.
"No one has told me. I deduced it," Worf admitted.
"We just—"
She glanced down the corridor where Data and Captain Picard were nearly to the lift. Tasha dropped her voice.
"We didn't want to say anything until, well… we aren't quite ready to make it public yet."
Tasha bit her lip, suddenly feeling sheepish for excluding her best friend from her dearest news. She presumed Worf was talking about her upcoming secret nuptials. She had no inkling that Worf had already worked out what she remained oblivious to.
"You aren't upset that I didn't tell you, are you? I'm so sorry," Tasha apologised.
To her astonishment, Worf was beaming.
"B'sha'ah tovah," he remarked.
A smile passed between the two friends before they resumed their walk to the Transporter Room.
"I'm not familiar with that Klingon phrase," Tasha confessed.
"It is not Klingon. It is a human phrase," Worf answered.
"You'll have to teach it to me when you get back."
"Of course," Worf agreed.
Geordi and Chief O'Brien were hunched over the computer terminal in the Transporter Room. A team of engineers was on hand to assist.
"Bader, how are those backup couplings?" Geordi asked.
"Fine, sir."
"Let's get that secondary coil isolation grid up," Geordi ordered.
Miles's brow was furrowed as he worked through the intricate calculation to find the right gap in the Iconian shield.
"Data, I'd sure appreciate it if you'd check my homework before I beam you all down there," Miles commented.
"I am certain your calculations are accurate, Chief," Data responded.
Miles paused and glanced up, quirking an eyebrow at his friend.
"But I will be happy to take a second look," Data added.
The communications system pinged.
"Captain? This is the Bridge," said Riker. "I've got an incoming message from the Thomas Paine. Can I patch it through?"
"Go ahead."
There was a short pause as the Bridge worked to reroute the dispatch. Jean-Luc had notified Captain Rixx of his plan after announcing it to the team. Rixx was in complete agreement. It was their best (and only) shot.
With the Romulans hovering at the metaphorical door, they couldn't risk transporting over nonessential personnel—not that the Thomas Paine had the space to begin with. She functioned primarily as a heavy combat ship and only the space to bring aboard a limited number of evacuees.
"Picard, I want to take the Thomas Paine and conduct a brief sweep of the area," Rixx shared.
Jean-Luc frowned.
"You mean that you want to take your ship out of orbit?" Picard asked to clarify.
"That's the idea," Rixx answered.
"Captain, it's safe to assume there are more Romulan ships inbound," Picard pointed out.
"Exactly," Rixx replied.
Picard was far too occupied with his own impending mission to try and decipher Captain Rixx's thought process.
"Right now, there's only one ship out there. She can't possibly follow both of us," Rixx explained. "We won't have this chance for long before the cavalry arrives. Let's use it to our advantage."
Jean-Luc scratched his chin as he mulled over the proposal.
"It might give us a chance to slip down to the planet without arousing suspicion," he mused.
"And I could scan for the Corsica. Might even get lucky and get the drop on just how many Romulans to expect," Rixx said.
The Thomas Paine might be able to pick up inbound ships on long-range sensors if they were travelling without their cloaks.
"Do it," Picard said.
"Already have a course laid in. I'll notify your Bridge if we find anything. And Captain, good luck," Rixx said before disconnecting the channel.
Data, Worf, and Captain Picard stepped up onto the transporter pad. Data took up his position to the left of the Captain and turned back to face Geordi and Miles.
His automated artificial breathing programme stopped functioning as he caught sight of Tasha in the corner of the room, watching him. She looked tired, more so than Data could recall.
That morning, Data thought Tasha was enveloped in an ethereal glow. Now, she looked ghastly pale.
She offered him a wan smile, but Data could see she was on the verge of tears.
Worf glanced from Tasha to Data and back again. Worf understood her fear (or so he thought). He offered Tasha a stiff nod of reassurance.
Worf would watch over Data. And he would bring him home.
No matter the cost.
"We're all set here, Captain," Geordi said.
"Energise," Jean-Luc ordered.