Author's Note: Thank you for your ongoing support of this story. All your comments, likes, kudos, and messages are wonderful to wake up to.
There are three more chapters left in this arc. I'll share this much – it ends with a significant escalation in our broader Romulan conspiracy storyline.
I've gotten some questions about the flashbacks.
This isn't the full story.
There will be two companion pieces at a later date. The Crease In the Fabric of Time will drop when we reach S3 as a tie-in with Yesterday's Enterprise and The Defector.
It covers (in depth) Tasha & Castillo's story from the events of Yesterday's Enterprise - their time on Romulus. It's currently close to 200k words – so expect a long one!
The Consequence is Sela's story and I intend to release that fic when we get closer to the S5 fic as there's a lot of tie-in with the Klingon-Romulan alliance.
The full story of Yesterday's Enterprise is a bit of a puzzle that will ebb and flow throughout the fabric of this series.
There are five people that hold pieces of that puzzle – Richard Castillo, Guinan, Sela, Admiral Jarok, and Q.
Please be advised this portion of the story is a dark turn. I want to assure you – this series has a happy ending. But this part is filled with pain and loss.
Content Warning: Strong language, violence, abuse, child abuse, sexual assault, torture, graphic injury, enucleation, pregnancy/childbirth, miscarriage, stillbirth, abortion, self-harm, suicide, character death, murder.
"You threw him in the Brig?" Guinan asked in disbelief.
She ducked just in time to dodge Captain Picard's strike – and countered with her own.
"You."
Swish.
"Told me."
Swish.
"To talk to him!" Picard said.
He was breathing hard, struggling to keep up.
Jean-Luc had spent more than forty years fencing. He was one of the best on the ship. Yet he was still no match for Guinan.
"I told you to listen to him," Guinan asserted.
The buzzer sounded as she landed a hit squarely on Jean-Luc's chest.
They dropped their foils and removed their masks. Jean-Luc used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow as Guinan removed her glove. Captain Picard grumbled while loosening his vest.
"Listen to him, Picard. Don't interrogate – just listen," she urged in her calm, cool demeanour.
Jean-Luc was in a foul mood by the time he got back to his Ready Room.
He had three missed messages from Captain Donald Varley – each growing more desperate for an update following Picard's jaunt into the Neutral Zone.
Beverly wanted information.
Data and Geordi were still waiting for an answer from the Captain regarding the recovered Romulan ship. It was still safely in the possession of the Enterprise and Jean-Luc remained torn on the decision.
He didn't want to speak to anyone at the moment – especially not the men they had rescued.
Their stories had been the same in every case.
Or rather, their lack of story had been the same in every case.
The only one that seemed keen to speak was the elderly Romulan. Only he insisted on speaking to no one save for Lieutenant Yar.
That didn't sit right with Captain Picard.
So, for the time being, Proventus had joined the rest of the rescued men in the Brig.
Jean-Luc stepped over to the tank in the corner to feed Livingston.
"Oh, what I wouldn't give to slip in there with you for the day, my old friend," Picard remarked.
Captain Picard had always despised most forms of pet ownership. In his eyes, animals were companions – not something to be owned.
And as a result of that belief, Jean-Luc had found himself entrusted with the care of Livingston. During a reluctant shore leave, Captain Picard had stumbled upon a rather shady man hawking tropical fish.
To Picard's disgust, Livingston had been a part of this seller's 'eye-catching display.'
Jean-Luc had never been enthralled by fish, but he took pity on the lionfish with missing spines and scrapes from sharing a tank with an aggressive reef lobster.
Once considered an invasive species on Earth, the lionfish was now all but extinct.
At the time, Picard had been serving on the Atraides, his interim assignment before taking command of the Enterprise. The marine biologist, aquatic veterinary, and exobiologist aboard had all agreed that Livingston was unlikely to survive reintroduction to the wild.
Earth's oceans had changed too much.
But they were keen to help Jean-Luc create the perfect aquarium to ensure Livingston's success and freedom (in a way) so that he may thrive for years to come.
While Livingston had been a reluctant companion, Jean-Luc did appreciate his presence. As a Captain, he had to maintain a certain distance from the crew.
Picard often talked to Livingston when he had no one else to share his problems with. He would never tell anyone, but he had often mused about communication with his companion.
Swimming left was as good as telling Picard 'yes.' Right was always 'no.' And hiding beneath the artificial reef crevice was his way of telling Picard to come back – he needed time (and perhaps an extra helping of ghost shrimp) to think on the matter first.
"What are we to do? Romulans breathing down our necks. A possible treaty violation of the most important diplomatic policy of the last century. And then of course, Beverly," Jean-Luc rattled off.
He paused and sighed.
"Well? What do you think?" Jean-Luc asked.
Livingston retreated under his rocks.
"Easy for you to say," Picard chuckled.
There was a chime at the door.
"Come," Jean-Luc said, bracing himself to face Beverly.
Only it wasn't Doctor Crusher. Data and Geordi swept into the room. They had come to check in with Captain Picard regarding their request to repair the damaged Romulan ship.
Not any easier. Picard thought.
He didn't want to speak with them either.
"Captain, we were wondering if you had reached a decision on our request?" Data inquired.
Geordi could sense Picard was feeling tense.
"We know this isn't easy, sir. If it helps your decision, what if we were to start with just the key structural systems? We won't even touch the cloak," Geordi offered.
Captain Picard glanced over to Livingston's tank where his beloved companion remained hidden. Inspired, Picard decided he also needed time and perhaps a meal to think on the matter.
"I don't have a decision for you. Not at this time," Picard answered.
Data and Geordi were stunned.
"Captain, the tactical advantage in studying this vessel is an opportunity we are unlikely to encounter again," Data advised.
"What if we didn't repair anything – just looked at it from an engineering standpoint? Find out what we're up against," Geordi suggested.
Worf and Tasha had both expressed a keen interest in Data & Geordi's research.
"Not at this time," Picard repeated.
"But Captain-" Geordi protested.
"I have given you my answer. Now out of my office. Now," Picard said, cutting him off.
Data and Geordi rode in silence on the lift for a few decks.
"Man, I feel like I just got told off by my mum for frying the family computer," Geordi remarked.
"Ah! That is the feeling," Data said. "I have been struggling to pinpoint my emotional response to the Captain's orders. I could not distinguish the disappointment from the sense that I have somehow done something worthy of embarrassment."
Data turned to Geordi.
"What would you call it?" Data asked.
"That's about it," Geordi said, shaking his head.
Geordi reached up and scratched the back of his neck. With each passing day, he was worried Captain Picard's position would grow further and further from allowing any access.
It was the Engineering dream of a lifetime and Geordi didn't want to disappoint his team.
"I don't know how I'm going to break this to the gang down in Engineering," Geordi mumbled.
Part of the reason everyone was so excited was this opportunity offered a change of pace from their mundane schedule of trainings, repairs, and maintenance work.
With the ship still under a strict travel prohibition, life was beyond dull.
"I guess we could tackle that phase modulator redesign we looked at last month. I don't think the Captain's going to have a decision anytime soon – we'll probably have the whole day, Data," Geordi thought aloud.
Data's eyes lit up as an idea struck.
Geordi could sense Data's neural net was firing on all cylinders.
"Data?" Geordi prompted.
The corner of Data's mouth curved upward.
"I have a plan. It will require the utmost secrecy, Geordi. You must tell no one," Data prefaced.
Geordi shrugged.
"Okay," Geordi replied slowly.
"Meet me in my quarters in an hour," Data said.
Data's hand shot out and caught Geordi's wrist.
"No, no. Best make it my lab," Data said.
Geordi quirked one eyebrow in Data's direction.
The lab?
He couldn't imagine what would be so top secret that Data would want to avoid meeting in his quarters – let alone what would be exciting enough to get Data jazzed like that.
"And now for strictly personal reasons, I must depart," Data announced.
He swept off the lift leaving an utterly perplexed Geordi in his wake. Geordi put his hands on his hips. He just sighed and shook his head.
"Computer, Deck 15," Geordi ordered. "What are you up to, Data?"
Tasha keyed in her access code.
She rolled her shoulders, pulling herself up to her full height to try and mentally prepare herself for the task at hand.
Ever since the survivors had been relocated to the Brig, Tasha had done her best to steer clear. She didn't want to be around this Castillo character. And Tasha's presence seemed to cause quite a disturbance from the elderly Romulan.
Unfortunately, this was one task Tasha could not delegate to Worf.
Tasha had barely set foot in the Brig when Proventus was at the edge of his cell.
"I must speak with you. Now! I am being illegally detained, and you cannot-" Proventus complained.
"Computer, mute cell 4B," Tasha ordered.
Proventus continued to rant and rail, pointing and shouting. But it was to no avail.
"Finally. Thank you," Ghost said.
Castillo's team was already sick of Proventus and his antics.
Tasha stopped in front of Castillo's cell. He was sitting on the edge of his bed. Richard noticed the shadow on the floor, he glanced up wearing a face full of apology.
Tasha clasped her hands in front of her.
And her mouth went dry.
"Lieutenant?" Castillo prompted.
"You submitted a request for computer access to view Federation records. I'm afraid that's just not something we can grant at this time," Tasha announced.
Castillo nodded in understanding.
"Right. Of course," Castillo said.
Tasha was surprised by how willingly he abandoned the idea.
Is this a ploy of some sort? Tasha considered.
Tasha turned to go, but Castillo stopped her.
"Would you do something for me? I understand you can't grant me access. But if you could download a file? Isolate it to a tablet a with no connection to the mainframe," Castillo pleaded.
Tasha frowned, eying him with heavy suspicion.
"A person. One file. I just want to know what happened to my mother," Castillo confessed.
Tasha fell silent.
"Her name was Lucia," Castillo said.
Tasha said nothing – she simply walked away.
Jean-Luc stood at the window in his Ready Room, sipping a warm cup of Earl Grey while he mulled over the decisions before him.
He didn't want to think about the men in the Brig or the Romulan ship currently in his possession.
Under normal circumstances, Jean-Luc would have an obligation to immediately report this Starfleet Command.
But the situation was anything but ordinary.
The Romulan ship.
The survivors of the Enterprise-C.
Beverly's questions.
Jean-Luc was surrounded by bad decisions in every direction.
The computer pinged. It was another incoming message from the Brig. Proventus was demanding an audience with Lieutenant Yar.
And he wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted.
Captain Picard sat down behind his desk. He didn't want to actively think about anything – but his fingers had other plans.
Jean-Luc clicked into the old files that Captain Varley and Admiral Quinn had shared months earlier. His thoughts drifted back to that conversation.
"I've never met your Lieutenant Yar prior to this mission, but I know you've spoken highly of her over the years. Your words mean a great deal to me, and her record speaks for itself," Quinn went on.
"You're not saying she's involved?" Jean-Luc asked.
He refused to believe Tasha would have any part in such a conspiracy.
"Not directly," Quinn answered. "To be honest. I don't really know what to think."
Jean-Luc had been disturbed by what he had seen – satellite images from Romulus that appeared to show none other than his own Chief of Security.
On Romulus.
Flanked by Imperial guards.
The image made Jean-Luc's blood run cold. And what disturbed him the most was that Tasha insisted she had no knowledge of the matter.
And seemed genuinely spooked.
Tasha was a trained covert operative. She knew enough to cover her tracks. Tasha would never have risked allowing evidence to slip into Starfleet's hands.
Unless.
The only possible explanation Jean-Luc could fathom was time travel. If that were the case, it could mean Tasha Yar was leaving breadcrumbs for Picard to follow.
Was she Varley's source?
One thing was for certain – Picard needed answers.
The last thing Tasha Yar wanted was to go poking around.
But she simply couldn't help herself.
Tasha was in the Security Office. She'd spent the better part of the last few hours working through Federation records on one Lucia Castillo.
The further she dug, the harder it was to step away.
Tasha surmised it was probably the lasting impact of Guinan's words. She was letting it get to her. But the story of Ms Lucia Castillo and her relentless quest for information was hard to ignore.
A single mother, Lucia Castillo had been devastated by the loss of the Enterprise-C. For two decades, Ms Castillo had pleaded for answers. She had petitioned, sent letters, and met with numerous delegations in an effort to push for a prisoner exchange in the hope that her son was alive.
She had campaigned for peace with the Klingons and later the Romulans all in an effort to seek answers. She simply wanted to know the fate of the Enterprise-C and her son.
And she had been stonewalled at every turn.
Tasha closed her eyes and grimaced.
Not knowing is worse.
The door to the Security office slid open. Tasha quickly terminated her access to Federation records. She switched to a different tab.
"Scores posted yet?" Worf asked.
Tasha shook her head.
"No. Nothing yet. The game must have run late," Tasha said. "Thanks."
Worf handed her a fresh Raktajino.
Tasha paused and inhaled deeply, relishing the nutty aroma of the beverage that had been her godsend.
The Security team was standing down. Since they could not access the Romulan ship or even analyse the sensor data without Picard's authorisation, it was a slow day in the office.
"Have you spoken to the Captain?" Worf asked.
"Not yet," Tasha answered.
For the time being, she was relaying the Security team's request to access the Romulan vessel through Data. It was both the proper chain of command and Tasha figured Captain Picard didn't need to be bombarded.
"Perhaps I should request a moment of his time?" Worf suggested.
Worf could sense Tasha was none too keen on that idea.
"We need to know what we're up against," Worf argued.
Tasha agreed. But she didn't want to overwhelm the Captain. And she trusted that Captain Picard had good reason for his hesitancy.
"And risk starting a war by violating the treaty?" Tasha countered.
Worf chuckled.
"You think the Romulans are having this debate too?" Worf asked.
Tasha fell silent so she could sip her Raktajino while it was still hot. Tasha's shoulders slumped.
"You know it's getting harder and harder to tell when we're at war with somebody," Tasha remarked.
Geordi frowned.
"Data, you know I can see colour better than anybody – but I honestly can't see a difference between the Alabaster and the Egg Shell," Geordi said.
Data glanced down at the two colour swatches.
"Hmm," he said. "There is a difference of two deltas between them."
Data set the swatches down on the table where they joined a pile of nearly three dozen other colour samples.
"Would you like more bourbon? Or perhaps a cigar?" Data offered.
"No," Geordi said.
Geordi glanced around the room.
"Data, what is all this?" Geordi asked.
For nearly an hour, they'd sat going through different colour swatches. Data had jazz music, cigars, bourbon, and a tray of Geordi's favourite foods.
"I have read that such customs are appropriate for human male bonding," Data said.
Data's tablet chimed. He paused to pick it up and seemed relieved.
"Data?" Geordi prompted.
"Confirmation of our afternoon at the spa," Data explained.
Geordi perked up.
He loved a good afternoon at the onboard spa. There was nothing like kicking back with a smoky glass of bourbon while enjoying a facial steam and a nail buff.
Geordi grinned.
He had invited Data to join him on plenty of occasions. Data had always refused. But in the last year, Data had started to explore what it was like to do things for himself simply for the experience.
"Data, what are we doing? What's all this for?" Geordi pressed.
Months earlier, Data had Geordi for his help in selecting some casual clothing for his off duty hours. He wanted to change his image up a bit, explore human fashion trends and find a cologne.
But this felt different.
"Is this about the wedding, Data?" Geordi guessed.
He was the only one aside from Captain Picard that knew the details of Data and Tasha's plan. Federation law required one witness to their nuptials. As Data's best friend, that task had fallen to Geordi.
Data bashfully averted his eyes.
"Data," Geordi said.
He reached across the table and shook Data's shoulder.
"I would like to select an appropriate wardrobe for the trip – including the ceremony," Data said. "That is what is these fabric swatches are for. I need to select material for a waistcoat and suit."
Geordi was touched that Data had asked for his assistance.
"I thought there were two ceremonies?" Geordi asked to clarify.
Data had advised there would be a small, legal ceremony that Geordi would be required to attend. He also explained there was a private ceremony that Data was extremely tight-lipped about.
"Let me guess. You don't need two getups because you're getting hitched Betazoid style?" Geordi teased.
"Not exactly," Data answered.
Geordi's eyebrows shot up.
"Data, you can't drop that and leave me hanging," Geordi protested.
Data glanced over to the far left corner. Geordi followed his line of sight to where Data's fine satin and brocade dressing gown hung in the corner.
"Oh," Geordi said, catching wise.
"It is a rather intimate ceremony," Data advised.
Castillo kept his eyes low. It was a habit he had learned from years of captivity at the hands of the Romulans.
"Would you like something strong? I suppose it's been a long time since you've had anything decent," Picard offered.
"Tea is fine. Thank you, sir," Castillo answered.
Jean-Luc poured a dash of milk into his own. He didn't usually take it that way. But when under duress, Jean-Luc found it comforting. Because it was the way his beloved Aunt Adele always served tea in her home.
"An old friend urged me to listen to you," Picard said. "She was rather… persistent."
Castillo said nothing.
"Her name is Guinan," Picard added.
He was hoping that would draw out some sort of reaction. But years of Romulan captivity had conditioned Castillo to remain perfectly still.
His eyes were unchanged. His posture relaxed. It was like he was a master at keeping secrets.
In truth, Castillo had never been great at keeping secrets. But he knew what was at stake. And he refused to break.
"I just want to know what you know. Listen to your story," Picard said. "I am hoping it will answer some questions of my own."
Castillo lifted his head to meet the Captain's gaze.
"I will be glad to discuss the emerging threats posed by these mechs, all the information I know of Ekloire Starbase, and General Morak's plan to build up the Romulan Fleet along the Neutral Zone," Castillo offered.
He paused and Jean-Luc braced himself for a condition.
"But I will not discuss the Enterprise-C nor her crew any further," Castillo announced. "You can take me back to the Brig, turn me over to Starfleet Security, lock me up for all I care."
"And what could be so important that you would willingly give up your freedom to protect?" Picard pressed.
Castillo remained silent.
Jean-Luc sighed in exasperation. He had an ace in the hole, but he was hesitant to reveal it.
"I need you to trust me," Picard said.
Castillo chuckled.
He had trusted Jean-Luc Picard two decades before when Picard had mysteriously asked them all to risk their lives for the timeline. Picard had been right then.
It seemed strange to find the tables turned.
"Is this amusing to you?" Picard asked.
"Not at all, sir. Forgive me," Castillo responded.
Jean-Luc was hardly satisfied with that answer.
"I once knew someone who spoke highly of you," Castillo said, choosing his words with caution. "They said you were one of the only men to ever show them kindness."
Picard was struck by this statement.
Jean-Luc had done the math. They had served in Starfleet during the same time. Picard was older. He'd been on the Stargazer at the time of Castillo's service on the Enterprise-C.
Picard had known several people that were on that ship. But he had lost no dear friends – certainly not anyone he'd been close with.
"We have a mutual acquaintance then?" Picard asked politely.
"You could say that," Castillo responded.
Jean-Luc decided to try a different approach. He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands across his lap.
"Twenty years ago your ship went down. There have been rumours of survivors. You're the living proof. Now you can tell that story," Picard said.
Castillo hesitated.
"This is one story that can never be told," Castillo responded.
2344 | Brea III | Romulan Space
The air was freezing.
It didn't help matters that everyone present had been stripped down to their skivvies.
It was hard to distinguish one day from the next. Time seemed to blur together in an endless cycle of being treated like cattle.
They were caged inside a holding facility. The Romulans had taken everything from them – uniforms, tricorders, communicators.
They were no doubt studying every aspect of the technology in hopes of putting it to use for their tactical, surveillance, and infiltration systems.
And that was precisely what terrified Tasha.
"At least they're feeding us," Castillo remarked.
Tasha Yar shot him a look.
"What?" Castillo asked.
"Doesn't that make you wonder why?" Tasha asked in response.
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Castillo's stomach. Tasha dropped her voice.
"You and I both know why," Tasha whispered. "And it's only a matter of time before they get to one of us."
On cue, the cell door opened. A heavily armed contingent marched inside and deposited two prisoners.
The Romulans were taking them in groups of three – occasionally returning with only one or two.
Tasha wagered they were killing the prisoners in front of one another to force the others to talk. It was a Romulan tactic she'd heard of.
At least at this rate we won't last long. Tasha thought.
"Vosun," a Centurion said, pointing at Tasha.
Two of the guards roughly hauled Tasha to her feet.
In spite of being frozen, exhausted, and half-starved, Tasha was still keenly aware of her surroundings. It came from the years she spent on Turkana. It was an instinct she wished she had the ability to turn off.
Like Data.
He wouldn't be afraid. He'd look at the situation logically.
Tasha did everything she could to stop the rising panic inside her as realised the situation had changed.
Tasha had known from the start that the difference in her uniform would be a problem. It mattered not whether the Romulans thought she was from a different division of Starfleet or a fleet officer – the difference itself was enough to peg her as a target.
And now Tasha's suspicions were confirmed.
The Romulans were taking her alone.
"That's the one," Commander Jarok said.
General Morak and his team were observing from a window above.
Commander Jarok explained that they had identified this prisoner early on. The uniform was different and unlike anything the Romulans had on file for known Starfleet uniform code.
It was a subject Romulans paid careful attention to.
"We initially suspected she may be a Fleet Officer we don't have on record," Jarok explained.
He paused.
"But our interrogation has turned up some interesting possibilities," Jarok said.
"Oh?" Morak asked.
Jarok tapped his tablet and handed it over to the General for inspection.
"She was a recent transfer to the ship. No one knows her name or background aside from claiming to be a Tactical officer with the rank insignia of a Lieutenant," Jarok explained.
"Sounds like a weak cover story for a Section 31 operative," General Morak commented.
The General peered down over the edge of the tablet to study the prisoner below. She certainly didn't look like much.
Humans were such a weak species.
"Surely you didn't call me down here just for this?" Morak inquired.
He did enjoy tormenting prisoners – but not ones that caved so easily like this batch of humans. Romulan dissidents and Klingon captives were far more fun.
At least they lasted for hours.
"Observe, sir," Jarok instructed.
Nine hours into the show, General Morak was having a hard time returning to his duties.
He was enamoured.
Most Starfleet prisoners recited the same ridiculous line. Name. Rank. Serial number. Birthdate. They were lucky to recite it three or four times before pain or threats led to either death or surrender.
Only this one was different – she didn't offer anything.
Sure, she screamed like the others when under a Romulan painstick. It was impossible not to. But even after stringing her up and subjecting her to sensory deprivation, freezing temperatures, and simulated drowning, the best they could manage to extract was an indecipherable garble of nonsense.
She spoke in a language they didn't understand.
The Romulans had no idea that while she was screaming, Tasha was reciting the name of constellations in her native Turkanan.
And for a true sadist like General Morak, Tasha Yar was like a gift-wrapped prize.
The General was amused by her – his torturers were not.
The Enterprise had disappeared from sensors for a total of three minutes and eighteen seconds before mysteriously emerging again out of nowhere.
And the Romulans could only think of one explanation.
"When did the Federation develop cloaking technology?" a Romulan demanded.
When Tasha failed to answer, her body jerked violently as the painstick impacted her torso.
Tasha could smell her flesh burning under the discharge. Her vision blurred as the surge rippled through her muscles, causing them to seize up in a painful manner.
After several agonising seconds, her tormentor released the pressure. Tasha collapsed against her restraints, hanging inches above the ground.
Tasha hissed and jolted. Her head lolled. Tasha was suddenly alert again. Her chest was pounding, and she felt like she needed to expend some energy.
Tasha was uncomfortably aware of every fibre of sore muscle in her body. Her head was swimming.
And it was all courtesy of a Romulan concoction.
Whenever Tasha slipped from consciousness due to the pain, the Romulans hit her with this special brew of stimulants, opioids, and anxiety-inducing hallucinogens designed to disorient the victim.
"How many ships does Starfleet have capable of cloaking?" the Romulan torturer asked.
Tasha refused to answer. She simply closed her eyes and relaxed her body, bracing for another hit.
Above, Morak grinned as he rolled up his sleeves.
"Inform Centurion Keldok I will take over from here," Morak announced.
Castillo had given up all hope of ever seeing Tasha Yar alive again.
For three days he'd been wracked with guilt. It was his fault Tasha Yar had survived the destruction of this ship. He'd pushed her to survive on Narendra III.
I could have spared her this. He thought.
Castillo was hardly relieved when two Romulans dragged her back into the holding cell.
She would have been better off dead. Castillo realised.
The Romulans roughly deposited Tasha – practically throwing her into a nearby wall. She lay there unmoving.
For a brief moment, Castillo thought she had died. But a slow, ragged breath proved she was still hanging in there.
Tasha flinched when Richard tried to help her sit up.
It was hours before she spoke to anyone.
"I thought you were dead," Castillo confessed.
"I'm not that lucky," Tasha replied.
Castillo reached for her hand, but Tasha recoiled in pain. She closed her eyes and shook her head.
"Don't," she pleaded.
Normally it took months for fingernails to grow back. But with regenerate technology, the Romulans had ripped and replaced her nails twice in the last seventy-two hours.
The nails were back – but the pain lingered.
Tasha rested her head back against the cold tile wall of the cell. She was pretending to be asleep for the sake of a discreet conversation. Tasha dropped her head against Castillo's shoulder.
In truth, she wanted to slip away from all of it. She was ready to mentally detach from her body for a few hours.
But there was one last task that remained.
"What did they want?" Castillo asked quietly.
"Name," Tasha responded.
I just want your name, love.
The same terrifying Romulan had uttered that phrase over and over between different techniques. He seemed to take pleasure in listening to her struggle.
Tasha had recognised the look in General Morak's eyes. She'd seen it before on the planet of her birth, in the eyes of more than one man.
The kind that got a thrill from inflicting pain.
"He wants my name," Tasha said.
Castillo was the only one left that knew her name. Castillo was also the only one left from the Enterprise-C that had actually set foot on the Enterprise-D.
"He can't find out about the temporal displacement," Tasha urged in a hushed voice.
Tasha was starting to get woozy. The drugs were starting to wear off.
"It can't hurt to tell him your name. It's not like there will be any Starfleet records," Castillo said under his breath.
Tasha gripped Richard's arm in warning as her mind drifted back to the words of a woman Tasha had known on Turkana years before.
Hold onto your name. You must have something to cling to here.
"No one can know I don't belong here."
The rest was left unsaid.
Days turned into weeks.
Though the number of human survivors dwindled, it seemed to level out after a while. The Romulans were feeding them.
Barely.
Some of the prisoners had considered hunger a strike – but the Romulans were already force feeding the Klingon prisoners.
To Tasha's astonishment, no one had yet revealed the secret of the Enterprise-C.
The survivors were hardier than expected. But after all, these people had willingly flown back to a no-win situation in order to restore the timeline on nothing more than the word of a Captain they hardly knew.
For the time being, the Romulans still had no idea who Tasha was or how the Enterprise-C had managed to disappear from sensors.
"Will today be the day you sing, my little songbird?" General Morak asked.
Songbird.
That was what they called her.
Because she refused to sing. It mattered not the means or method – threats and torture were of no use in extracting information.
"So where are you from?" Morak asked as he circled Tasha.
He chuckled when she didn't answer.
"Let me guess – Earth? New Berlin? Heliopolis?" Morak pressed.
Tasha said nothing.
Her silence was no longer just about protecting the timeline. She was hoping to infuriate her tormentor into killing her.
Tasha glared up at Morak.
Their Romulan captors considered it a great affront for any of the prisoners to look at them. Tasha didn't fully understand the strange social rules – she just wanted to find a way to end her life.
It was safer for everyone that way.
Morak stopped and studied her for a moment. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. He knelt down in front of Tasha and cupped her face.
"Just tell me where you're from. I want to hear all about your precious human mother. Your silly little customs," Morak went on.
For once, Tasha Yar was grateful she didn't have any memories to pull at her heartstrings.
"Am I supposed to believe you just fell from the stars?" Morak said, taunting her.
Tasha grinned.
"You think you're being clever, don't you?" Morak asked.
Morak delivered a swift, brutal kick to Tasha's diaphragm. Tasha heard a sickening snap as the impact cracked her ribs. She would have doubled over were it not for the restraints.
Tasha hissed and gasped as each breath brought a new sharp pain.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Morak asked.
Thwack.
Tasha grimaced as the back of Morak's hand graced her jawline – immediately followed by an equally powerful blow in the opposite direction.
Tasha felt a strange sense of relief when Morak's fingers closed around her throat.
"Anger me? Drive me into a rage so that I might snap and kill you?" Morak asked.
Tasha could feel the sweet relief of death as she slipped from consciousness. She had come to terms with the fact the Romulans would not lay her to rest under the stars.
It was a sacrifice Tasha was willing to accept.
But to her dismay, General Morak released his grip.
"Did you really think you were the first person to think of that?" Morak scoffed.
Tasha's heart sank.
"You aren't the first. But you are the first that's managed to impress me," Morak remarked.
Tasha hung her head in defeat.
Out of options, Tasha fell to a backup lie she had learned in her covert operations training. One she kept in reserve if her resolve failed.
"My name is Rachel Creed," Tasha lied.
She'd read that somewhere in a book. Tasha was banking Morak was unfamiliar with it.
"I'm an inspector for Starfleet Internal Affairs. I review Bridge duty logs to ensure compliance with staffing regulations. I was assigned to the Enterprise the day before we arrived," Tasha went on.
She paused and sniffled, hoping to really sell it.
"I-I don't know anything," she sobbed.
Tasha flinched as Morak pet her hair.
"Awww, don't weep," he cooed.
"It was my first shift on the Bridge," Tasha lied.
Her voice broke as she poured all the pain and anguish of the last month into her performance. It was a relief to finally cry free of the fear of demoralising the others or giving her captors something to use against her.
Tasha figured she had nothing left to lose.
"What's your name?" Morak asked.
"Rachel Creed," Tasha repeated.
"No it isn't," Morak said.
Tasha wanted to recoil when Morak pulled her head close against his chest.
"You're the woman that fell from the stars. My little songbird," Morak teased. "Doesn't it feel good to finally let down those walls?"
Tasha was furious with herself.
"You know I was just starting to believe that maybe you really couldn't communicate with us," Morak confessed. "You see, our translator technology only covers sixty or so languages."
Morak explained the Romulan Star Empire didn't have a need for a universal translator.
"It's not worth the expense of building. We don't tolerate the existence of every disgusting, needy planet like your Federation," Morak spat.
Morak brushed away her tears.
"If only you had held out a little longer," he tutted.
Tasha kicked herself internally. Her entire goal had been to avoid drawing any sort of attention. Her plan had backfired.
Spectacularly.
Tasha could smell his breath against her ear.
"And now that I know you can, I intend to make you sing," Morak said menacingly.
Richard Castillo was nearly out of his mind.
They took the prisoners in shifts. But when they took Tasha, it was for hours and hours on end. It felt like days sometimes – more than double the length of the others.
Castillo didn't know if Tasha's absences truly were longer or if he was just more aware of the passage of time because it was her.
"She's giving them information. Has to be," Lieutenant Brown said.
"We don't know that," Vil Arandev countered.
"They take her twice as often as the rest of us. She's probably given them half the plans for our deflector shield technology by now," Brown went on.
Ghost scowled below his dark bangs.
"She was with us. She chose to join us. She came back-"
He stopped himself.
Castillo glanced over at the Ghost and offered him a small nod of thanks for speaking up. He was getting sick of the others questioning Tasha's capabilities and loyalties.
But at Tasha's request, Castillo had to be cautious about speaking out. They couldn't afford to show any sort of affection or familiarity. The last thing either of them needed was to give the Romulans an opportunity to use them against one another.
"I'm just saying it's suspicious," Brown insisted.
He wasn't alone – and everyone knew it. With each passing day, the detractors grew stronger in numbers.
There were already whispers of a plan to sell Tasha out to their captors.
Brown leaned in close and dropped his voice.
"I'm just saying we could bargain with that information. Save the rest of us," Brown whispered.
Roosevelt rolled his eyes.
The door to their cell slid open. Two Romulan guards threw Tasha inside before sealing the holding cell again.
Roosevelt shot a glare over at Brown.
"Suspicious, eh? Does that look like cooperation?" Roosevelt snapped.
Brown crossed his arms and fell back against the cell wall.
Tasha ignored them all. Castillo watched in horror as she crawled toward the back of the cell. He longed to help her – but Tasha had been clear that he absolutely had to keep his distance.
He was under strict orders to not so much as utter her name.
Tasha rolled onto her back and took several unsteady breaths before pulling herself into a sitting position – favouring one arm.
She had broken her wrist during the fall. Tasha clutched it close to her chest as she turned away from Castillo.
To his great surprise, Tasha addressed him.
"I need to ask you to do something for me," Tasha said in a hushed tone.
Castillo closed his eyes and braced himself for what was coming.
Ghost and Arandev could sense they were trying to have a conversation and moved to give them cover. It didn't offer much privacy – but afforded Tasha a chance to look Richard in the eyes.
It was the first time they'd looked at one another properly in weeks.
Tasha seemed drawn – even more grim than she had those first few hours on Narendra III. There was a look of utter defeat.
She breathed and opened her mouth as if to speak and then froze.
Tasha hesitated, shaking her head.
"I'm sorry. I thought this moment would bring a semblance of peace. But I'm afraid I must apologise," Tasha whispered.
There was a lump in Castillo's throat as he feared Tasha was about to confess to collaborating with the Romulans, revealing the secret they had all worked so hard to maintain.
For the first time since Narendra, Tasha broke down in the presence of others. Her lip began to quiver.
"No goodbyes. Just good memories," Tasha managed to choke out.
She felt awful that she would leave him with such an awful memory in the end.
"I-I-I don't understand," Castillo stammered.
"I need you to kill me," Tasha confessed.
She gripped Richard's hand.
"I'm sorry. I know it's not fair to the rest of you. But I'm the only one that… knows things," Tasha said in a voice so low it was barely audible.
Even if the Romulans managed to learn the Enterprise-C travelled through time, they could gain no valuable information from Castillo and the others.
Richard was the only one left to set foot aboard that advanced ship. He'd hardly a chance to study anything of value long enough to give the Romulans useful intel.
"We'll figure something out. Starfleet may already be negotiating for a prisoner exchange or-"
Tasha shook her head.
"I've thought about this long and hard," she assured him.
Tasha had been planning for a way to end her life ever since their capture. But the Romulans were clever. They weren't permitted utensils for meals, dental care toiletries, or even blankets.
They'd stripped them down to their skivvies. There wasn't even material enough to fashion a makeshift rope.
The cell had no furniture.
No windows.
There wasn't even carpet.
"They've ensured I cannot exsanguinate or asphyxiate myself. Can't even starve yourself in this place," Tasha explained.
Tasha had no means to end her own life. And as much as she loathed making that ask of Castillo, she felt it was her only option to protect the timeline.
"I'd do it myself but-"
Tasha trailed off.
It seemed so unfair to be robbed of the opportunity to even come to death on her own terms. The added cruelty of being denied her own death custom felt like a further insult from the universe.
Yet in spite of that, Tasha felt she didn't have any right to play with the timeline.
"I can't. I won't," Castillo protested.
He flashed her a sad smile.
"There's no moonlight," Castillo shrugged, desperate for an excuse.
Richard could tell by the look on Tasha's face that she wasn't going to give up. Richard's face grew warm under her gaze as he started to tear up.
"We're always saying goodbye," he said.
Hot tears started to spill out and Castillo was furious he had no way to hide them. Most of the team had broken down at one point or another. And it was demoralising every time it occurred.
"N-no one will even know what you did," Castillo sobbed.
Tasha smiled.
"You will," she whispered.
She reached for his hand and gave it a small squeeze of reassurance. She inched closer, using her elbow to drag herself across the floor.
"I hope I gave you something to remember me by," Tasha said, echoing his comment from when they had first met.
She was trying to lighten the mood to cover how terrified they both were.
"A night you'll think about for the next twenty years. A night you'll look back on in the twilight of your life that will make you ache for Narendra III," Tasha murmured.
In spite of her tears, she giggled.
"And then please think of anything but that godforsaken place," she said with a wry smile. "So cold and terrible."
Tasha's expression softened.
"And then remember that you made it a little less cold and awful," Tasha confessed.
Present
Richard Castillo sat across from Captain Picard in Jean-Luc's Ready Room.
"Twenty years ago your ship went down. There have been rumours of survivors. You're the living proof. Now you can tell that story," Picard said.
"This is one story that can never be told," Castillo responded.
The two men had sat in silence since. Castillo appeared to be completely lost in thought.
"Dammit," Jean-Luc said, slamming his hand down on the surface of the desk.
Castillo didn't so much as flinch.
"Lieutenant," Picard said, trying to catch his attention.
When that failed, Picard was left to resort to more drastic measures.
"Castillo!" Picard barked in a raised tone.
Richard blinked and looked up.
"I am sorry," Richard apologised.
"Why are you so resistant?" Picard pleaded.
They were getting nowhere fast. At every turn, Castillo shut down questions. It was as if he were harbouring a great secret.
So Jean-Luc decided to show his hand.
"What if I were to assure you that what is shared here would go no further? That it is solely for my peace of mind?" Picard asked.
Castillo listened with caution.
"Right now I have someone on my ship, someone that I desperately want to trust. But I… I need answers," Picard said.
"Captain, please don't," Castillo urged.
There was fear in his voice – real, profound fear.
"Mr Castillo, I implore you-"
"Time travel," Castillo said through clenched teeth.
Richard took a shaky breath. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to fight back the mix of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
He wanted to scream, to cry, to pour out two decades of trauma to someone – anyone – that would listen.
"Temporal Prime Directive. Time travel," Castillo choked out. "That's why I can't answer your questions. So please don't ask."
Time travel.
It was confirmation of Picard's worst fear.
"And you encountered one of my people," Picard remarked, piecing it together.
Castillo averted his eyes in a manner that was as good as wordless verification.
"I recognise now that you are trying to tread delicately," Picard acknowledged. "But I need to know that I can trust my officer. This-"
He hesitated.
"This isn't the same Starfleet you knew," Picard settled on.
Jean-Luc was reluctant to share information about the conspiracy.
"I get the impression we both know who I'm speaking of," Picard began. "I need to know if that officer was there on a mission. Undercover perhaps?"
Castillo clamped his mouth shut. It ached not to share the intimate details of Tasha's sacrifice.
"I don't need to know the details. I just need to be sure I can trust them. That they weren't a defector," Picard said.
He didn't think Tasha had it in her to betray Starfleet.
And yet.
In Jean-Luc's experience, the best traitors always wrapped themselves in an aura of selfless duty.
"Defector?" Castillo scoffed, offended by the notion of it.
Jean-Luc had struck a chord.
Richard kicked himself for letting it get to him.
"Don't do this to her. Please," Castillo cautioned.
Picard knew it was time to show his cards. He tapped his computer screen to pull up the appropriate image and flipped the screen around to show Castillo.
"What do you know about this?" Picard demanded.
Castillo's heart stopped.
The image was one of Sela taken on Romulus. No doubt during one of their Imperial festivals designed to distract the masses from their subjugation.
She was standing next to her father, Morak, flanked by his most trusted advisors. The Emperor was a stone's throw away.
Sela was wearing the appropriate military regalia – decked out to the nines in the symbols of fascist oppression that she had come to adore.
Behind them flew the banner of the Black Eagle party while thousands of black boots marched below in formation.
Yet in spite of the uniform and insignia, Richard could only see the same wee girl – struggling to stay upright in a costume that was too big while her father used her as a pawn for a game she was too small to understand.
Tasha Yar would weep if she knew this is what had become of her daughter.
Castillo was shattered.
He had dedicated his life, risked his safety time and again, and ordered men to their deaths – all to protect Sela.
And in the end, she had embraced everything Tasha and Richard tried to prevent.
Richard broke down. He wept for the child he had known and loved, mourning her loss for the second time.
"What do you know?" Picard repeated in a low, dangerous voice.
Castillo reached into the pocket of his jumpsuit and ran his thumb across the faded blue ribbon there.
"Why is Lieutenant Tasha Yar on Romulus?" Picard asked.
"She isn't," Castillo replied in a faraway voice.
Jean-Luc rolled his shoulders back in frustration.
"That isn't Tasha Yar," Castillo said.
He couldn't help himself anymore. The grief was too strong.
Castillo yanked the computer right off Picard's desk.
At first, Jean-Luc thought that Castillo was going to destroy it – smash it on the ground or throw it into the wall.
Instead, Jean-Luc watched with fascination as Castillo ran his fingers across the image.
"She isn't Tasha Yar," Castillo repeated, his voice full of sorrow.
Romulus | 2360
Sela glanced around and took one last look at the sky above.
Blue skies, smiling at me. Nothing but blue skies do I see.
She had a faint memory of someone singing her that song as a small child. Though after years of searching, Sela had resigned herself that it must have been a human song and she was therefore better off forgetting it.
But it was hard not to think about that memory now – not when Sela was headed back to her family's compound.
Home.
If one could call it that.
It was hard to part with the lush gardens and warm, blue skies of Ephesia. Sela had always loved visiting the city as a young girl.
It seemed like a world away from her own home in the north of Romulus.
Her family's compound was a monument to ancient Romulan style. The architecture was severe. It stood in stark contrast to the lovely, modern beauty of a city like Ephesia.
Ephesia wasn't Romulan. It was nothing like Romulus.
Rather, Sela's ancestors had conquered the world where Ephesia stood centuries before. It was one of the earliest planets conquered by the Romulan Star Empire.
The people that were native to the planet had some silly little name for their homeworld. But the Romulans called it 'Nida' in honour of the Iconian ruins located there.
It had once been a thriving Iconian world – long before the now enslaved native population had even crawled out of the primordial ooze.
Now it was home to the most prestigious Romulan educational institution – the same institution that had educated Senators, Commanders, and even Emperors for more than three centuries.
"My lady," Commander Jarok said, handing Sela her long coat.
It was a bitter reminder of the icy reception that awaited Sela.
At fifteen, Sela had just completed her education – graduating with top marks. Following a short stint at home, she would be off to the Imperial War Academy.
Service was compulsory for all citizens including the Imperial family. Romulan serfs and lower classes were pressed into civitas (or service) in the Fleet at the age of sixteen.
But for the upper echelons of Romulan society, higher education began at the age of fifteen followed by entry into service at age eighteen.
Sela was under tremendous pressure.
She knew that in spite of her achievements, the only thing waiting for her at home was a sharp rebuke and news of her marriage or 'trust bond' prospects.
Sela's latest arranged marriage contract had been rendered null and void by the assassination of her intended's family in an explosion.
It was the third one to end that way.
The last thing Sela wanted to discuss was her father's latest scheme to expand his sphere of influence by hawking his daughter.
Sela instinctively reached up to clutch her long braid, reaching for the blue ribbon that held it in place.
She closed her eyes and relished the sunshine on her face. There wouldn't be many days like this where she was heading, and Sela wanted to savour this moment.
"My lady, we need to depart," Commander Jarok said.
He was technically her father's staffer, but he'd been assigned to collect Sela and bring her home.
Taking one final look at the lush, green grounds of the school, Sela followed Jarok to the ship.
She was only half-listening as they boarded.
"We will arrive on Romulus shortly before final meal," Jarok advised. "I've had your rooms prepared so you may rest and dress beforehand."
Sela fiddled with the locket hidden under her collar as she watched the shuttle pull away from the school that had been her beautiful, happy place for the last few years.
The educational institution had been demanding. Sela had found herself isolated from her peers.
She was General Morak's daughter, a member of the Imperial family.
And half-human.
Sela excelled at her coursework and recreational pursuits. Navigating human and Romulan puberty alone was difficult.
Socialisation was non-existent.
In a way, Sela found her isolation a welcome reprieve. Because outside of her coursework and activities, she was free to slip away alone to the gardens or the library.
There were no tutors to punish Sela for writing stories or dreaming about travelling the stars.
"There will be a formal dinner tonight at 17:00 hours. Your father is expecting a delegation from the Senate including the Vice-Proconsul and members of the War Committee," Jarok said.
He was walking at brisk pace down the corridor of the ship as he read from the agenda on his tablet. Sela followed behind at a slower tempo, lost in thought.
"You depart for tomorrow for the Capital where you will be formally presented to the Emperor as part of the Sollemne Initium," Jarok went on. "He's instructed that you are to speak with Tritius Pullo first and then Vice-Proconsul Festul's son… eh-"
Jarok trailed off. He swiped madly through his tabs in search of the name.
"Ah! Metellus," Jarok announced.
Commander Jarok bit back a smart remark as he studied the rather unappealing personnel file compiled on young Metellus.
The Sollemne Initium was a formal gala held by the Emperor in honour of the next generation entering their public service.
It meant three days of hobnobbing with generals and senators, Romulan public servants looking to angle their way into favour, and dozens of Sela's peers who would be more than keen to turn up their noses at her.
Sela found the whole affair rather dull.
"And he's arranged an interview for you with Admiral Hellok. Ask to intern on his ship. You aren't to accept any offer – say you'll need to consult with your father first," Jarok explained, relaying Morak's specific instructions. "He'll then offer you the opportunity to room with his daughter at the Imperial War Academy to sweeten the deal. Act surprised and excited."
Suddenly, Sela stopped.
The Sollemne Initium? Tomorrow?
It took Jarok several seconds to realise Sela had stopped.
"I thought I had more time," Sela said in a faraway voice.
"My lady?" Jarok prompted.
Sela glanced up.
"The Initium," Sela said. "I thought-"
Sela stopped herself. It would do no good to complain. All she could do was accept her fate.
"Please continue, Commander," Sela said, catching herself.
Jarok paused. His heart went out to her. She was so young, too young to have all these responsibilities thrust upon her.
"Forgive me, my lady. But if I may speak freely – I am sorry. I know you were… hoping for more time to relax between your graduation and public schedule," Jarok said.
He chose his words carefully.
Jarok suspected the real reason Sela was hesitant wasn't just about a break from her studies. Sela was accustomed to being paraded around, doing her father's bidding. General Morak used her as a bargaining chip in all his dealings – whether it be arranging marriages to formalise alliances or on the promise of positioning his child in a prominent posting to spy on rivals.
"Your rooms have been prepared," Jarok said.
He set his tablet down and held his arm out to usher Sela to her quarters.
"Thank you, Commander. You may send the remainder of your briefing in written form to my tablet," Sela said with a polite nod.
The moment she stepped into her quarters, Sela spied the blue dress hung and pressed in the corner.
Sela slumped down onto the sofa near the window. There were more than a dozen messages waiting from her father. Her tablet pinged again as Jarok transmitted the written instructions of his briefing – all eight pages of them.
Sela chucked her tablet across the room.
Every hour of her life was part of a planned itinerary – when she ate, who she spoke to. Even the way Sela dressed was planned for her.
She glared at the dress in the corner.
It was lovely, the same shade as her ribbon. General Morak probably had it made for Sela specifically for that reason.
Well, in truth he likely instructed Jarok to find something suitable. Jarok was probably the one that had thought to get it in that colour.
He was thoughtful like that.
As the shuttle pulled away into orbit, Sela allowed herself a moment to wallow in self-pity. It was a rare indulgence, but one Sela felt she'd earned upon graduation.
Without warning, the ship shook.
Sela recognised the sound and force as a secondary ship docking.
A moment later, the klaxons roared to life as they blasted a warning to all decks.
They were being boarded.
Sela sat up and leaned over to lay her head down on the sill of the window, turning her back to the door. She could care less about being boarded.
This particular ship was small. It carried a complement of thirty or so odd crew members including twelve guards. Their sole purpose was to protect Sela.
As General Morak's last remaining heir, she was a prime target.
Sela had survived so many assassination and abduction attempts that they hardly registered anymore.
A loud bang resounded in the corridor as the intruders set off a device to temporarily stun the crew of the ship. Sporadic disruptor fire followed.
Sela didn't even turn around when the door to her quarters slid open.
"Whatever you're here for – make it quick. And if you're here to kill me, just get it over with. I rather fancy the notion of dying in these stars," Sela announced.
"I could never do that, my lady," Castillo said.
Sela whipped around.
"What happened to the little spitfire with her blade ever at the ready to fight off intruders?" Castillo asked.
She rushed forward, her eyes full of tears of joy and surprise.
Lilo. Her protector. Her confidant since childhood. It had been years since Sela had seen him in person – even longer since she'd had the chance to seek refuge in his arms like she had when she was a girl.
Sela was only a step away when she stopped herself. She thumbed away her tears and straightened her posture.
"What are you doing here?" Sela demanded.
"Hello, Lala," Castillo said.
He smiled.
"You were just a wee thing when I last saw you," he said in astonishment. "Now just look at you. All grown up."
He was starting to get teary.
"We don't have much time," Castillo said.
He took a step forward to embrace Sela. She moved back, eyeing him with suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" Sela repeated.
Castillo was stunned.
"I promised I would take you away from here," Castillo reminded her.
It wasn't his first attempt to rescue Sela and whisk her away – but it was their best attempt in years.
Sela frowned.
"Why?" Sela asked.
It was hardly the time or place for a philosophical discussion. An alert over the communications system sounded – notifying the ship that the Bridge was in lockdown. Disruptor fire continued to ripple across the vessel as Castillo's team worked to keep their escape route open.
"Because… Lala, I promised I would take you away from this," Castillo said. "Look, we don't have a lot of time before they call for backup."
Sela remained motionless. When Castillo reached for her hand, Sela pulled it away.
"You abandoned me," Sela said. "You left me."
The betrayal in her voice cut right through to Castillo's core.
"It wasn't always safe. We received word your father and half an armada of ships were moving into the area," Castillo explained.
There had been numerous rescue attempts made over the years. But there was one in particular that had left Sela scarred.
After successfully capturing Sela, Castillo and his team had been forced to abandon Sela on the rocky shoals of a tiny island on a nearby planet.
Alone.
At the time, Sela had only been nine years old.
"We took steps to ensure your safety," Castillo said.
"I was alone for hours!" Sela roared. "Your men didn't want to rescue me. You decided I wasn't worth saving!"
"I know it may have seemed that way from your perspective but-"
"YOU TOOK A VOTE!" Sela shouted.
Sela was so furious that she was shaking as years of pent up resentment spilled over.
"I heard them. Everything they said about me. You humans preach acceptance – but I have never been human enough. Those men have only ever looked upon me as Romulan," Sela said, pointing at the corridor.
Castillo couldn't deny her statement. There had been a vote. With Morak's armada moving in, the men knew there was no way to escape. Morak would pursue them until Sela was either recaptured or killed.
Their best hope had been to leave Sela behind as a distraction and slip away.
"I stayed behind. I watched from a cloaked shuttle to ensure your father came to collect you. I waited until you were safe," Castillo said. "I know you couldn't see me or feel me there – but I was with you, Lala."
Sela's anger evaporated – a little.
"And I will never leave you again," Castillo promised.
He offered his hand to Sela.
She studied it for a moment, still hesitant to accept his offer of protection. Sela was too accustomed to being abandoned by those she loved.
Her father's words echoed in her mind.
Humans will always betray you. It's in their nature.
"I love you, Lala. I promise I will take you away from here," Castillo vowed. "That's why I've never given up."
And it was true.
After the incident that had left Sela traumatised, Castillo had made several other attempts to rescue her. Though he'd managed to successfully make contact - most had failed to get off the ground.
But on two occasions they had very nearly succeeded – one in which Sela had been tearfully ripped from the arms of her protector moments before their transporter kicked in.
It was followed by another in which Sela had outright fought back against Castillo's men for fear of being killed by her father.
"I'll take you to all the places you want to see," Castillo said. "Vulcan. Earth. The gardens on Orion. Anywhere you want to go."
Castillo could see Sela mulling it over.
"How do I know you won't leave me? The things my father would do to me if he knew-"
Sela shuddered.
She wanted to trust Castillo. He had kept her safe on many occasions from assassins and her father's rage.
While on Romulus, Castillo had been powerless to stop General Morak and his wife. Physical violence, verbal abuse, and psychological manipulation were all forms of trauma that Morak considered parenting tactics.
"If you come with me I promise that I will never lay a hand on you. I'll never use you like your father does. You would be free to make your own choices, Sela," Castillo said.
The offer was tempting.
"And I would be there to support you every step of the way," Castillo added. "If you want to come with me."
There were no expectations. He just wanted Sela to be safe and happy.
Castillo was delighted when Sela gripped his hand.
"Let's go," she said.
They rushed out into the corridor. It was still hazy from the earlier blast and visibility was poor. They were greeted with a hail of disruptor fire.
Castillo dove to the side, pressing Sela against the wall behind him.
"We're surrounded, Coyote," Ghost said, leaning out of an adjacent room to return fire.
Castillo began to back away. Sela knew exactly what to do – she'd been in this same situation on far too many occasions.
They retreated back into the safety of Sela's quarters. Castillo poked his head out to survey the scene.
"There's an escape shaft that leads to the medical storage locker," Sela offered.
"And there are four Romulan guards waiting there for us to take that path," Castillo countered.
He had known Sela was due to travel back home today. Castillo and his crew had spent six months preparing for this operation. That included studying every aspect of the ship and the emergency plan.
"We've lost control of our escape route," Roosevelt advised over their communicator channel.
"Alright. Alright," Castillo said.
He stepped over to Sela and held her close.
"Don't worry. We've got a backup plan," Castillo said.
Technically they had the ability to transport out – but it was one-shot. The programme they had uploaded to the computer could only be used once before it was rendered inactive.
"Standby for transport," Castillo said.
Sela stepped back, shaking her head.
"No. No, it won't work," Sela said.
She held out her arm and pulled back her sleeve to reveal a tight metallic bracelet.
"A transport inhibitor," Castillo realised.
Sela nodded.
"My father had it… well, I've had it since my aunt tried to have me killed," Sela explained.
She was reluctant to use the word forced – even if that was how it felt. Sela was quite literally her father's prisoner. She could not be transported off the vessel without the proper coding sequence.
"Coyote?" Roosevelt prompted.
"Standby. We've got a problem," Castillo said.
He gripped Sela's wrist as he studied the device. There appeared to be no weak point or even a latch of any sort.
"It can't be removed," Sela informed him.
Castillo scanned the room. He was desperate to find any sort of tool to break this off Sela's wrist.
The disruptor fire in the corridor grew louder as a second wave of reinforcements arrived. Castillo knew his men wouldn't be able to hold the position forever.
All of a sudden there was a shout from the corridor.
"Harrington's been hit," Ghost advised.
Another wave of fire erupted.
"Itrup's dead," Ghost added.
Castillo was out of options. He couldn't pull Sela out in the corridor. There was too great a chance she would be hit in the ensuing firefight.
But without a way to transport her off the ship, their only escape route excluded Sela.
"Well, it was a nice thought while it lasted," Sela said.
Castillo wasn't ready to give up.
"No. We'll find a way," Castillo said.
Sela laughed. Her heart wanted to cry – but Sela didn't want her last moments with her beloved protector to be stained with the memory of tears.
"With what?" Sela asked.
She managed to flash Castillo a smile.
"You have to go," Sela said.
"I'm not leaving you again," Castillo said.
Sela threw her arms around him. It felt like home.
"We're always saying goodbye," Sela said. "And I don't want to. You need to go. In any case I have a big fancy dinner tomorrow and I couldn't very well miss that for some-"
Sela was trying to deflect from her real feelings with humour.
She stopped and started to sob.
"I love you," she confessed.
"I love you too, Lala," Castillo responded.
They stood like that for a moment as Castillo rocked her back and forth. He had been the only person to ever truly show her affection – aside from a mother Sela could barely remember.
"I will come back for you. I promise," Castillo said.
Sela glanced up.
"You shouldn't," Sela warned.
There was a sad look in her eyes – one Castillo had seen before in the face of Sela's mother.
"They'll probably just throw me back across the border. Don't want an intergalactic incident," Sela said. "You should take your ship and go. Far from here."
Castillo shook his head.
"No. I could never leave my girl," Castillo said.
Sela was his child in every way that mattered. Richard had taken an oath to protect her, to ensure her safety.
"I will see you happy," Castillo said, poking the tip of her nose.
A loud explosion from the adjacent corridor reminded them both of how little time they had. The Security forces were closing in.
"You have grown into a remarkable young woman. And I have never been so proud of you," Castillo said as he gripped Sela's chin.
Something in the corner of the room caught his eye. Richard's breath hitched as he spied the blue dress hanging there.
"It was your mother's," Castillo remarked. "She looked radiant in it – as will you."
For a fleeting moment, Richard thought back to the memory of that night in the Romulan capital city. Of course, Richard had kept his distance. But he could still recall the sight of his love and her moonlit stroll through the garden at the Cardassian Embassy.
"You know, she had this ribbon made for you from a scrap of that dress?"
Castillo grinned as he teased her braid.
"And I smuggled it to you," Castillo said. "Even then you were so strong."
Castillo gripped Sela's shoulder.
"I see so much of her strength in you," Castillo said fondly.
His comment did not have the desired effect.
Sela pulled the ribbon off the end of her braid.
Richard could hear the Security forces pouring into the corridor. Ghost and Roosevelt were already coordinating the transport.
"Go," Sela urged.
Castillo glanced at the door. It seemed so unfair that their time together would be cut short again.
"Don't come back," Sela warned.
She thrust her ribbon into Castillo's hands and covered them with her own.
"That little girl is dead. Every part of me that was human died that day with my mother," Sela said.
The words hurt as soon as they left her mouth.
"I can't lose you," Castillo said, stunned by her sacrifice.
"And I can't lose you," Sela countered.
"Stand by to transport," Roosevelt announced.
Castillo squeezed Sela's hands.
"Because if you die here I have nothing. But if you're still out there somewhere I can hold onto hope that maybe one day you will come for me," Sela said.
Castillo opened his mouth to respond.
He was transported away before he could get the words out just as the Security forces broke through the door.
"You're too late," Sela sneered.
She was hoping they would interpret her displeasure as a failure to protect her rather than cooperation.
"Forgive us, my lady," the leader said.
The team all dropped to a low bow as they wordlessly pleaded for mercy.
"Get out. And leave me alone for the rest of the trip or will tell my father how you nearly failed," Sela ordered.
Commander Jarok wanted a full medical exam and shakedown of the ship. He also wanted an armed guard to remain with Sela at all times.
Sela had refused – threatening again to complain to her father if her privacy was violated.
There were some advantages to being Morak's daughter.
Finally alone, Sela sat down at the vanity in her quarters and ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. As she brushed it out, Sela glanced over at the dress hanging in the corner.
For years, Sela had worn her hair in a long braid with that blue ribbon. She had always presumed it was a gift from Castillo. She had never known it was from her mother.
And Sela had specifically chosen to wear her hair in a braid because when it wasn't, it was a constant reminder of her mother.
Sela felt it every time her father insisted she wear her hair down or whenever Drusilla had turned up her nose and made snide comments about Romulan beauty standards.
She heard it when Drusilla refused to acknowledge Sela by name, referring to her only as the child, the abomination, the human's brat.
The consequence.
Sela could see it in the way Castillo looked at her – his eyes full of pride and a hint of sadness for the love he'd lost.
And no matter how hard Sela tried to suppress those faint memories of songs in a strange, foreign language or stories of fireflies in the cold evening air, Tasha Yar was always staring back at her in the mirror.
Sela hated it.
It terrified her.
She was afraid of her father, afraid that he only sought to use her. She was terrified that her very existence hung in the balance.
She was only as safe as she was useful.
Sela could easily wind up the consort of some Tal Shiar operative or Senator.
And then she would be discarded and killed just like her mother.
The dress was simply confirmation that for all his promises of love, her father had only ever seen Sela as one thing – her mother's child.
Sela reached into the second drawer of her vanity. She combed her hair again. And with a steady hand, she carefully cut away her long, blonde hair.
When she was nearly finished, Sela used her scissors to produce a perfect Romulan 'v' shape bangs to cover her lack of forehead ridges.
Sela was immensely pleased with the results. She turned her head side to side to inspect her work as she admired her short hair.
Sela was no longer the child with a braid and little boots.
She looked sleek and felt professional.
The cut was in line with traditional Romulan fashion and deep down Sela knew it was a small act of rebellion against her father.
When Sela arrived at her father's compound, Drusilla threw back her head and roared with laughter.
For a brief moment, General Morak said nothing.
Then he offered Sela his arm.
"Walk with me," he ordered.
Sela obediently followed her father as they walked through the long, lonely corridors of her childhood home.
Prison.
The walls were mostly bare except for the last corridor that ran the length of the compound.
'Corridor' was hardly an apt description.
The room was wide enough for General Morak's staff to walk six abreast. Along one side there were portraits of Sela's ancestors, a grand tapestry tracing her family's origins to the Iconians (dubious at best), and flags from a bygone era of the Romulan Empire.
There was more history on that wall than then in the entirety of the Romulan Senate building – especially given that it had been rebuilt several times in the last thousand years.
Above hung the banners of the United Romulan Front Party. Sela had been a young girl when the Black Eagle had first gone up.
The other side of the corridor was open. It overlooked a sheer drop to the rocky coast of the Apnex sea below.
General Morak stopped in front of the door to his study.
Sela could count on one hand the number of times she had been allowed to enter.
General Morak ushered his daughter inside and then stepped over to his liquor cabinet. He poured a drink and then sat on the edge of his desk.
Sela kept her eyes trained straight ahead. She had often wondered what this room would look like, how different it would feel to stand there were this not the very spot of her mother's execution.
The room had felt just as large and intimidating then with its dark corners and sharp furniture. It wasn't a space designed for comfort – it existed solely to put guests off balance.
"They came for you. Castillo and that band of rebels," Morak said.
"Yes, fenthair," Sela responded.
General Morak set down his drink. He rose from his seat and Sela braced herself.
To her astonishment, Morak cupped her face.
Sela had fully expected a blow – not a look of approval.
"And you fought them off. You held your own," Morak praised. "My fearless little eagle."
Jarok had radioed ahead to inform Morak of the incident and explain the Security failings. Sela was in no position to counter this claim – and nor did she want to.
This was one of those rare moments, a small glimmer in an otherwise bleak existence.
Her father saw her.
He looked upon her with adoration and pride rather than scorn.
With love.
All Sela had ever wanted was to be loved. She worked so hard to please her father, to be the best, to be more Romulan than her peers at the education house.
And it was all because she wanted to earn her father's love.
"Do you know why you are my heir?" Morak asked.
"Because I am your only living descendant," Sela answered, reciting her father's words. "Because the anti-Imperialist seditionists have no regard for loyalty."
Most of Sela's older siblings had been killed by rivals in an attempt to usurp power.
Sela had listened to her father rant and rave about all of his lost children – sons of the Empire that were a symbol of the Imperial family.
"Except you," Morak said.
Not for a lack of trying. Sela mused.
"And now more than ever I know. I am certain. It has always been you, Sela. You were destined for greatness," Morak said.
He grabbed Sela's hands, running his thumb over them.
"I knew you were special from the moment you were born," Morak said.
Sela didn't know he had nearly killed her. She had no inkling how close she'd come to death in those first moments of life.
"You endeared yourself to me. Proved yourself as worthy of my lineage," Morak said.
Following an assassination attempt by Morak's own wife, Sela had earned a special place in Morak's heart. Tasha Yar and Richard Castillo had done most of the work in protecting Sela.
But wee Sela had bitten her attacker. She hadn't even had a full set of teeth then.
And when Morak's last son and heir died, Sela's position was elevated to heir apparent. She became his golden girl. And when poison nearly killed Sela a year later, it was Morak himself that stood vigil at her bedside.
"I prayed to the divines that you might live. And you came back to me," Morak went on. "My phoenix. The universe couldn't kill you if it tried."
Sela's face flushed.
"Seeing you standing here as a young woman. A bright future ahead of you. Looking so very smart," Morak said.
Sela wasn't sure how to respond. Her father rarely showered her with praise. He might as well have been speaking Tamarian.
"And now I'm sure. It's you. It's always been you," Morak said. "You will be the one to succeed me."
Morak turned Sela to look at the far wall and instructed the computer to bring up the lights. He always kept them low in his study – and for good reason.
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Sela's stomach as the lights began to click on.
Morak had installed special lighting in this room to ensure he could keep that far wall in darkness. It was empty and served as a reminder.
Sela blanched.
"You look so much like your mother. And I see so much of her in you," Morak said.
Sela dropped her eyes to the floor. The dress was suffocating. Sela felt like she was going to hurl. She flinched when her father stroked her hair.
"I know the memory is painful," Morak acknowledged.
Painful hardly did justice to the way Sela felt.
"Your mother was a whore and a traitor. She embodied the values of her people well. A shining example of why one can never trust humans," Morak spat.
He took a breath and swallowed back the anger that threatened to bubble over. Tasha Yar was a wound time could not heal.
"But before she abandoned you and turned her back on our ways, on us-"
Morak slipped two fingers under Sela's chin, forcing her to lift her head and look upon the portrait.
"She was Astradis – the woman that fell from the stars. Like a fireball in the sky. Reborn from the ashes of the battle that transcended time and space itself," Morak in awe.
Morak wasn't just attracted to Tasha Yar. He was obsessed.
He found her physically appealing. There was a certain thrill that came from the sense of forbidden from someone that stood in stark contrast to Romulan standards of beauty.
Features like light hair and blue eyes were seen as a sign of poor breeding, of those that lacked the purity that came from maintaining proper, pure Romulan bloodlines free of Vulcan, human, or other undesirable influences.
But Morak's obsession with Sela's mother stemmed from a cosmic sense of destiny to possess what he viewed as a rare jewel.
Morak had always dove headfirst into the Romulan Imperialist notion of divine leadership. He believed it was fate that the very fabric of time would rip open and literally deliver Tasha Yar into his hands.
"She was a human. But there was something so Romulan about her," Morak commented.
That sense of destiny and the influence of the Romulan Imperial state religion is what had driven Morak to commission this mural along the wall.
The battle of Narendra III.
The burning ships.
And Astradis in all her golden glory surrounded by a sea of stars like she was some sort of ancient Iconian war goddess.
Morak had prayed the divines would take Drusilla. He'd made attempts as well. Because had she died, he'd had every intention of legitimising Tasha Yar.
He had intended to elevate her as his wife, to display her as a symbol of Romulan supremacy. Morak wanted to show that he had conquered and subdued this Federation spitfire.
Tamed.
Sela was horrified as she stared at the image of her mother with her short, sleek hair combed back. The vague memories Sela had of her mother were of a woman with longer hair.
It was why Sela had always worn the braid. She couldn't stomach being compared to her, to people looking at her and only seeing the parts that were Tasha Yar.
In trying to distance herself from her mother, all Sela had done was emulate her more.
Sela was nearly catatonic as her father pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"I had intended to pursue a marriage arrangement with the Vice-Proconsul. But I see now that was a mistake," Morak said.
He shook his head as he walked over to the desk.
"No, no. That won't do at all," Morak muttered.
Sela's heart skipped a beat.
She saw a glimmer of hope that her father might allow her to pursue her own career at the Imperial War Academy solely for herself and not as a part of some greater scheme.
"No. I have far grander plans for you. And now I know you're ready. This is a sign," Morak said.
Sela's brow furrowed as her father began to light the candles at his altar to the divines – an act he did before taking any serious action.
"Come. We will pray together and then I will instruct Commander Jarok to reopen negotiations with the House of Duras," Morak said.
Sela joined her father. She cast a quick glance up at the woman on the wall who stared down over both of them with a strange, dead look in her eyes as if to bemoan her fate.
It was a feeling Sela knew well.
On their way out of her father's study, Sela paused at the ledge.
"Don't dawdle or we'll be late," Morak ordered.
"Go on. I'll only be a moment. The candles have left me lightheaded," Sela lied. "I just need some fresh air."
General Morak nodded. He left Sela in peace to stand alone at the precipice overlooking the cold, churning waters of the Apnex sea.
The air was chilly. The spray crashed on the rocks below. The wind rippled across the coastline.
Sela shivered.
There was no sunshine to be found in this place, no warm breeze to kiss her skin or scent of flowers to grace the air.
No, everything in Morak's home was sand and stone.
And ice.
Sela gazed down at the dark water below as it was tossed along the sharp rocks.
It was hypnotic.
For a brief moment she considered what it would be like to fall. She wondered how many seconds it would take before she crashed onto the rocks below and if those seconds would feel like freedom.
Sela felt they were calling to her, tempting her with the promise of eternal nothingness.
She had no idea about the many nights her mother had stood in that exact spot contemplating the very same question.
Because the idea of throwing herself onto the rocks brought a welcome sense of relief in death.
It was better than living in Morak's cage.
Anything was better than that.
Present
"She isn't Tasha Yar."
Jean-Luc didn't understand.
"Are you saying this is an imposter?" Picard asked.
Castillo didn't answer – he was too wrapped up in a memory.
"Some sort of surgical deception? A clone? Genetic manipulation?" Picard pressed as he attempted to rationalise this information.
But to what end?
Picard didn't want to downplay the importance of Tasha's role, but he could think of at least two dozen higher priority targets in the Starfleet Security Chain of Command – and he knew the Romulans had the ability to influence and seemingly replace people either through the use of a parasite or implant of sorts.
He didn't know how or why they were doing it – only that it was possible.
That in and of itself told Jean-Luc this was very different.
"Who is this?" Picard demanded.
Castillo just shook his head.
"Dammit! I know that you know. Now tell me who is in this picture?" Picard barked.
Jean-Luc had reached his breaking point.
"It's not Tasha Yar," Castillo said.
"You keep repeating that, but it brings me no closer to an answer," Picard retorted.
Jean-Luc leaned to the side of his seat, resting his elbow on the arm as he stewed in anger.
"How do you know her? How do you know this isn't Tasha Yar? And what does it have to do with the Enterprise-C and why you can't tell me about what happened?" Picard inquired.
His voice grew in volume and strain with each subsequent question.
"I guess you could say she's a product of what happened on that ship," Castillo answered.
Jean-Luc fell back against his chair. He flung his arms out in frustration.
"That is not an answer!" Picard said.
Picard laughed in astonishment. He was flabbergasted by Castillo's stubborn refusal to cooperate. Picard rubbed his forehead to collect his thoughts.
"I have evidence of my Security Chief on Romulus. You won't talk. There's a Romulan that looks suspiciously like Senator Proventus and he's willing to talk!" Picard ranted.
He leapt up from his seat and began to pace behind his desk, gesturing wildly with his hands as he tried to sort it out.
"Romulan conspiracies threatening Starfleet. Now you claim they're building up troops along the border and that there's another threat looming out there," Picard fumed. "I've got a dear friend's life hanging in the balance. And an old friend advising caution while hinting that disaster will strike."
Jean-Luc had lived with the guilt of Guinan's warning about Tasha for over a year.
"And now you. YOU! You are the only person that may have answers, but you're worried about violating the Temporal Prime Directive. Well I don't see any damned butterflies so I don't know why you can't step freely!" Picard shouted.
He stopped. His chest was heaving.
Jean-Luc tugged down his uniform. He felt lighter having gotten that off his chest.
"Maybe I'll talk to the Romulan?" Picard pondered aloud.
"Don't do that," Castillo warned.
"I suppose I could always keep Tasha confined to the Brig. For her safety and possibly our own," Picard went on.
He was theorising how to respond to a crisis he couldn't even identify.
"Please don't do that to her," Castillo pleaded.
Richard was overwhelmed with guilt. He had only sought to protect Tasha – now he may have placed her entire Starfleet career in jeopardy.
Jean-Luc could see Castillo was distressed. He'd driven him to his emotional breaking point – precisely where he wanted him.
"Computer replay audio file one -four - nine - seven - seven - three - one," Picard ordered.
Jean-Luc had requested Data pull the file for review.
The computer clicked and began to replay the audio file.
"This is the USS Trieste. We are three hours and eight minutes from your location," Data said.
"It's good to hear your voice, Trieste."
Castillo dropped his head as he listened to those final moments replay over again. He could practically smell the sizzling wires.
It was just like being back there as Tasha relayed the instructions – the Enterprise-C had expended her torpedoes. Her position had not been sustainable.
There was no way out.
And help was hours away.
A powerful blast rocked the ship. Then the Trieste attempted to make contact again.
"Trieste, be advised I have issued General Order 13. We are abandoning the Enterprise," Tasha announced. "I have laid in a course to ram the closest warbird. That should allow some of our people to escape," Tasha explained.
There was a pause.
"This will be our final message," Tasha relayed.
If only it had been. Castillo thought with a bitter taste. If only I had listened.
He'd mucked things up well enough for Tasha Yar in that timeline. It seemed only fitting he would find a way to do it to her here too – even unintentionally.
"Computer, cease playback," Picard ordered.
The transmission stopped.
"There were over seven hundred people on that ship. Don't you care about honouring them? Are their families not owed an explanation?" Picard asked.
He understood the importance of the Temporal Prime Directive – though he couldn't figure out what role it played in this.
The discovery of Castillo was simply confirmation of what had been considered the likeliest possible scenario for the disappearance of the Enterprise-C and her crew.
"This is their legacy," Picard argued. "Don't you have an obligation to tell their story?"
Castillo was at a loss for words.
"Computer, replay audio," Picard instructed.
Castillo grimaced, shifting in his seat as he was forced to listen to the file once more. So many good people had met their deaths in the skies above Narendra.
And they had gone so willingly.
They did deserve to have their stories told. Hell, they deserved to have their praises sung, recorded in murals, and honoured with statues.
There should have been songs and speeches, school commemorations, and memorials.
Instead there had been twenty years of confusion. Many of the families and friends impacted by the loss of the Enterprise-C had been left in limbo. They felt stuck in their grief.
"Trieste, be advised I have issued General Order 13. We are abandoning the Enterprise," Tasha announced. "I have laid in a course to ram the closest warbird. That should allow some of our people to escape," Tasha explained.
There was a pause.
"This will be our final message," Tasha relayed.
"Computer, again," Picard ordered.
Castillo rolled his head back and forth between his shoulders as he subjected to the sound of his crew dying.
"What are we listening to?" Picard roared.
"Good people dying," Castillo said through clenched teeth.
Jean-Luc ordered the computer to repeat the message once more.
Be advised, I have issued General Order 13.
We are abandoning the Enterprise.
This will be our final message.
Castillo's distress appeared genuine. Picard recalled how difficult it was to listen to the loss of the Stargazer in her final moments.
He could sympathise – but he couldn't understand why.
Picard was so wrapped up in studying Castillo's reaction that he allowed the recording to continue.
"This will be our final message."
"Who am I speaking with?" Data asked.
"Thank you," Tasha said, unsure of what else to say.
"I do not understand," Data confessed.
"Thank you. Thanks for being here with me at the end, Data," Tasha said.
"Shut it off!" Castillo screamed.
"Computer, again!" Picard barked.
Thank you. Thanks for being here with me at the end, Data.
A disturbing thought weaselled its way into the back of Jean-Luc's mind. He became aware of it before he was ready to admit it.
"Computer, again," Picard said.
Only this time it wasn't an order. His voice was hesitant.
The interrogation was forgotten as Picard's thoughts spiralled. The clues were right there in front of them the whole time.
The voice. The same composure. The smooth tenor in the way she said 'Data.'
The refusal to identify a name.
The discrepancy of a DNA sample from a thirty-four year old that was only twenty-seven? Picard could practically hear Beverly in his ear with a smug sense of satisfaction at solving her mystery.
"Computer, again," Picard ordered urgently.
This will be our final message.
Thanks for being here with me at the end, Data.
After a final attempt by the Trieste to make contact, the transmission ended in static. Captain Picard and Castillo sat in silence for several minutes.
There was no sound save for the occasional bubbling from Livingston's tank.
"You wouldn't talk, the reason you knew her language, her name," Picard began.
A chill ran down the back of his spine.
"Tasha Yar was on the Enterprise-C. She was on that ship," Picard said in disbelief.
"Tasha Yar is not going to care what you wear," Geordi insisted.
Geordi was having a difficult time in understanding why Data was so strung out about wedding planning. Tasha was a consummate professional on the job. But outside of work, she was easy-going.
Next to Commander Riker, she was probably the most laid back of them all. She was certainly not the type to be caught up in expectations of formality or silly notions of tradition.
Only Geordi's comment left Data feeling disappointed.
"Data? What is it?" Geordi asked.
"Geordi, I am not doing this for Tasha," Data explained.
He paused to take a sip of his bourbon.
"I am doing this for myself. I want to do something for me," Data said.
He paused.
"People find meaning in self-expression. While there are many aspects of style and culture I have yet to explore, I do not believe I should deny myself that assertion of my individuality just because I have not yet studied every possible iteration," Data shared.
Data never did anything without researching hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands of possible permutations.
Sometimes choosing pie at the replicator felt like a dissertation.
So Geordi was pleasantly surprised to hear Data talk about his desire to go for something. He sat back in the stuffed, reclining chair and relaxed.
They were in the Enterprise spa, luxuriating in all that the spa had to offer. Data had found the steam facial surprisingly enjoyable.
His pores were designed to seal themselves when they detected moisture so as to protect his internal circuitry. In a way, it was the very opposite of a humanoid response.
Though his bioplast reacted differently than human skin, Data had still found pleasure from the steam.
The subsequent trim had brought a sense of relaxation. Data was delighted as Mr Mott combed and styled his hair – all the while commenting how silky it was.
Now Data and Geordi were sipping their drinks while a team of automated technicians worked to buff their nails and massage their hands. Meanwhile, there was a tingling foot mask doing wonders for Geordi's sore feet.
"Geordi, is it supposed to do that?" Data inquired.
"Feels nice, eh?" Geordi replied.
A broad grin spread across his face.
"And you do this every week?" Data asked.
"Oh yeah, I've got to look good for the public," Geordi teased.
Data raised an eyebrow in Geordi's direction.
"It's an expression, Data. A joke," Geordi clarified.
"Ah! I see," Data said. "Because as a starship engineer you would have no public to admire you."
Geordi's face soured.
He closed his eyes, crossed his arms, and settled back into his seat.
"Well some people happen to think my feet are baby smooth," Geordi said in a terse voice.
"You are referring to Ensign Gomez," Data observed.
Geordi sat upright. He was nearly apoplectic as he struggled to find the words.
"Would you keep your voice down!" Geordi choked out.
He glanced around in a panic, trying to ensure they were alone and had not been overhead. Geordi was trying to maintain some semblance of privacy in his relationship with Sonya.
They didn't want anyone thinking Sonya was getting preferential treatment due to their relationship. Sonya's performance was all her own doing – she excelled because she was the best.
"Have I touched on a, as you would call it, 'tender' spot?" Data asked.
Geordi grumbled something under his breath as he flopped back against his seat. He didn't think Data would pick up on what he said, but Dat had caught every word.
"In fact, Lieutenant Yar finds my feet in bed to be quite warm," Data said without missing a beat. "You see, my bioplast is equipped with temperature controlled technology which I can manually override as I see fit which enables me-"
"We don't all have magic feet, Data!" Geordi interjected.
"Hmm," Data said in his typical manner.
He paused the automated manicurist to study his hand.
"It is usually my hands that Tasha refers to as magic," Data said.
Geordi's head lolled about in frustration.
"Data," he said in a warning voice.
Geordi turned to the side and found Data wearing a knowing smirk. He realised it had all been a joke – Data was razzing him.
Geordi chuckled as the two men raised their glass in a toast.
Back in the Captain's Ready Room, the mood was anything but jovial.
"She was on that ship. That's why you don't want to say anything," Picard said. "But I've got you dead to rights! Now tell me – why? How?"
Is this what Guinan had sensed?
If Tasha Yar had somehow been on that ship twenty years before, it would certainly go a long way in explaining the DNA sample Beverly had identified.
Had she been sent on an undercover mission?
Jean-Luc knew Tasha well enough to understand she would never neglect her duty (including sacrifice) – especially if the fate of others depended upon it.
His heart ached for Tasha, for the lifetime she would never get with Data, the plans she would never see to fruition.
Yet he couldn't ignore an obvious fact. Tasha looked as if she hadn't aged a day in that time.
Could she really be a defector? A secret Romulan?
Jean-Luc was having a hard time in preventing his mind from going down a dangerous spiral. He needed to stay focused.
"Please," Picard asked.
It was a voice so unlike the Captain that had demanded answers. Picard sounded broken. Defeated. He was a man at the end of his proverbial rope.
"Yeah. She was on that ship," Castillo admitted.
Finally hearing it hardly brought a sense of relief.
"She always spoke highly of you. She trusted you. Said you were a good man," Castillo said. "She said once that there were only three men that had ever shown her kindness – a man that cared for her on Turkana, the android she called a friend, and Captain Jean-Luc Picard."
That statement hit Picard in a way he hadn't anticipated. He staggered, gripping his desk for support.
"That's the reason why I'm going to tell you what happened," Castillo said.
He paused, blinking back the wetness that pricked at the corner of his eyes.
"And because someone needs to know what she did. She deserves that – even if it's only you," Castillo said.
Picard sat down behind his desk. There was a chill that crept in and took hold of his body, a sense that told Jean-Luc this was a story of misery.
A story that he didn't want to hear.
Castillo found it difficult to pinpoint where to start. He'd spent a lifetime covering, lying, withholding – from the Romulans at first, then Morak, now Starfleet.
"So when you asked about our Security…"
Jean-Luc stopped.
Castillo glanced up from his lap wearing a sheepish look.
"I just… I guess I just wanted to know she was alright," Castillo confessed. "I shouldn't have asked. Should have just kept my mouth shut."
Should have kept my hands to myself. Castillo thought.
Tasha Yar might still be alive.
Hell, I never should have looked in her direction. Castillo lamented.
He'd often wondered. Had he never said anything, never flashed her a smile – would Tasha Yar have even asked Guinan about her fate?
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Picard said.
Castillo was exhausted. He was mentally drained.
In spite of Jean-Luc's desire for answers, he recognised Castillo was in no fit state to discuss the matter.
The man needed to rest. He needed time to grieve and process. Somehow knowing that he had access to the information was enough to settle Picard.
For now.
Castillo had no sooner left the Ready Room when Beverly burst in.
Picard whipped around, stunned by the intrusion.
"Beverly!" Picard snapped.
"Shut up," she ordered.
She carried herself with the sort of righteous fury that Jean-Luc often found equally as aggravating as it was admirable.
"Now I have waited. I have been patient. I have kept my distance. But enough, Jean-Luc. You owe me answers and this time you aren't going to sneak your way out of it!" Beverly roared.
Picard saw red. His eyebrows shot up. He was too flustered for words, so he opted to tug down his uniform instead.
"Sneak out of it? I'm the Captain of this ship in case you'd forgotten that fact," Picard asserted.
Beverly smirked as she put her hands on her hips. She'd cornered him and they both knew it. Whenever Jean-Luc fell back on the 'I'm the Captain' argument it meant he'd run out of any other logical point to make.
"Then answer my damn questions," Beverly retorted before adding a cheeky 'Captain.'
"Get out of my office," Picard ordered.
Beverly scoffed in disbelief.
"You can't talk to me like that," she said.
"I'll talk to you any damn way I please. Now get out of my office," Picard barked.
He turned away from her and took up the seat at his desk. He made himself look busy by scrolling through the growing list of missed messages from Captain Donald Varley of the Yamato.
Beverly didn't move.
"You're dismissed, Doctor," Picard said without looking up.
A shadow loomed over his desk.
"Not until you explain why I was ordered to bury the evidence linking one of our crew members, my friend, to a Romulan-engineered bioweapon and why that man that just left your office – a man who disappeared twenty years ago – seems to know her," Beverly said.
Picard took a breath and then looked up from his tablet. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason I gave you that order? A reason that exceeds the authority of a ship's doctor?" Picard asked in a calm voice.
Then his expression shifted.
"Or did that not occur to you because you feel entitled to poke your nose into every crack looking for trouble? You can't resist staying out of it! It's like you get a kick from bending the rules," Picard fumed.
Beverly had always had a knack for trouble. Her insatiable curiosity had led to danger on more than one occasion.
"You just love throwing that in my face," Beverly countered.
It wasn't the first time Picard had made a comment of that nature.
"You're a pompous, arrogant arse. You know that?" Beverly asked.
Picard glanced up to meet her glare.
"And yet still Captain," he responded innocently.
Before Beverly could open her mouth to lodge a protest, Jean-Luc was prepared.
"Dismissed," he said simply.
Beverly turned to go, stopping just shy of the door. She wasn't ready to walk away from the fight without getting in the last word.
"I just want you to know that-"
Jean-Luc brought his hand down on the surface of his desk harder than intended as he leapt up from his chair.
"The bloody Temporal Prime Directive!" he hissed.
Beverly was shocked by his outburst.
The Jean-Luc she knew was uncomfortable with such physical displays of anger. She was certain the crew on the Bridge must have heard his explosive temper.
His chest was heaving as he tried to come back to a space where he could speak in a rational manner.
"I can't talk to you. I can't give you answers," Picard insisted.
His voice broke.
"No matter how much I wish I could speak to someone right now," Picard confessed.
For the first time, Beverly could see how difficult this was for the Captain.
"You don't have to do this alone," Beverly offered.
"Yes. I do," Picard replied with a heavy sigh.
Richard Castillo sat down on the edge of the sofa in his quest quarters.
They were lavish – like one of those nice suites on Casperia Prime.
He'd ordered a glass of water from the replicator.
Then a cup of hot tea. It was a thrill knowing he had hot tea on demand again. Real tea. With hot water. Such a beverage had been a luxury the last twenty years of his life.
Castillo had been grateful for his space in the Brig. These quarters had left him blown away. He felt small, like he didn't belong.
He was worried he might break or dirty something.
Before he could get settled there was a chime at the door.
Tasha was surprised to find him at the door.
"We usually just say 'come in' or-"
Tasha dropped her smile.
"Or go away," she added, sensing his discomfort. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to bother you. I can come back if this is a bad time."
Castillo swallowed his sense of alarm. He didn't want to spook her.
Lord knows I've done that enough in the last forty-eight hours. He mused.
"It's fine. Please. Come in," he said.
That sat down across the table from one another. It was safer that way. Tasha had come to check how he was settling in - and she'd come bearing information.
"I wanted to give you this," Tasha said.
She slid a tablet across the table.
"I can't grant you access to the wider mainframe for obvious reasons. But all the available information I could find on Lucia Castillo is downloaded to that device," Tasha explained.
Richard's hand shook as it hovered over the power button.
"Would you like me to show you how to use it?" Tasha asked, interpreting his hesitation as a lack of awareness on how to use the technology.
Richard retracted his hand.
"No. I can manage. Thank you," Castillo said.
There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, a look of fear in his eyes that Tasha recognised.
Richard wasn't sure if he should look. He was afraid of what he might find. It was one thing to wonder about his mother – her whereabouts, her grief. It was another to read about it.
He flinched when Tasha reached for his hand.
"She never gave up on you," Tasha said.
Richard wanted to melt. He longed to return that grip, to hold her hand again. But he stayed perfectly still for fear that he wouldn't be capable of stopping there.
He was too close to pouring his heart out in the hope that there was some infinitesimal chance Tasha Yar might take an interest in a crusty old man past his prime.
"She dedicated her life to finding you. To searching for answers. She petitioned Starfleet, the Romulans. She went directly to the Klingon High Council. Travelled all the way to Q'onoS and made her case to the Chancellor himself," Tasha informed him.
She grinned.
"And she's still alive," Tasha said, excited at having discovered such wonderful news.
Tasha got up from her seat. Leaning over his shoulder, she booted up the tablet and swiped through a number of files.
"Here. Just last year she founded an organisation for families and friends of the Enterprise-C crew. They're planning a big memorial dedication to mark the twentieth year," Tasha explained.
Richard was blown away. A part of him was touched by his mother's dedication. Another part of him felt guilty that she had committed herself to finding him.
Prior to his disappearance, they had been close. Richard was all she had. Her family had died, Richard's father had left.
Lucia and Richard had been alone their whole lives. It was always just the two of them.
"It's an article from a local news organisation. Here," Tasha said, pointing at the screen. "White Pine, Michigan. That's where you're from, right? Your hometown?"
"Yeah," Castillo answered in a faraway voice.
Narendra III | 2344
Castillo shivered. He blew on his hands and then rubbed his shoulders to try and bring some small semblance of warmth.
The sun was up – but it had failed to bring warmer temperatures.
"What are you, half-Andorian?" Castillo teased.
Tasha didn't answer.
"Sorry. Usually I don't mind this. I always liked the cold growing up. You know, coming home to hot chocolate and Sunday roast after a day out in the snow," Richard said. "Ooo! And Christmas. All the food. The lights."
Tasha gently blew on the hot coals, using some kindling to get the fire going again. She stopped and sat up, looking back over her shoulder at Castillo.
"That's the one with the Sand Clause right?" Tasha asked.
Richard was going to make a smart remark about bad jokes when Tasha's face fell.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "It wasn't my intention to poke fun or mock your culture. I have hard time keeping track of all your holidays. It's not the one with the teeth thief is it?"
The whole concept of someone sneaking in to steal children's teeth had always terrified Tasha. She'd thought her Academy peers were teasing her until she'd learned it was an actual thing.
Richard burst out laughing.
Tasha's face flushed with embarrassment.
"Come on, now you're just razzing me," Richard said.
Tasha turned back to her work in silence.
"Yar?" Richard asked.
She didn't answer.
"Whoa, hey. I'm sorry," he said, crawling over to her spot by the fire.
Tasha pretended to be focused on one of the rations packs as she blinked back tears. She'd always been ashamed of her lack of cultural awareness.
"You really weren't joking," Richard realised.
Tasha stopped working. Her shoulders dropped as she frowned.
"Just forget I said anything," Tasha said.
"I'm sorry," Castillo said.
He crawled back across the frozen rock to his previous spot. Richard threw one of the thermal survival blankets over his shoulders and pulled his knees in close.
"Where are you from?" Castillo asked.
"Where I'm from cold like this isn't something to celebrate. It only makes it harder to work and grow food and bloody sleep," Tasha grumbled.
She shoved another bundle of brush onto the fire before ripping open one of the ration packs. Only she pulled too hard and sent the contents flying.
Tasha glanced out at the horizon as she bit back the urge to scream. She was furious with herself.
"It's fine. I like a little rock and dust with my ugh… reconstituted vegetable soup," Castillo said, reading the side of the label. "Gives it texture."
Tasha shot him a dirty look.
Castillo put his hands up as a sign of surrender.
"I trust you," he said – and he meant it.
That ration pack had been their last pack of soup. Everything else from there on out would be dry goods, tinned preserves – things that were harder to stretch than the likes of soup.
Tasha chucked one of the remaining packs of water biscuits back at him.
Castillo wasn't going to complain. Any food was welcome. He ripped open the package and savoured every bite.
"I don't see why we don't just open it all up. Have ourselves a feast before this chill claims us," Castillo suggested.
"Because there's a chance you might make it out of here. You need to ration your supplies," Tasha said.
"Our supplies," Castillo countered.
He scowled as he spied Tasha trying to collect the remnants of the spilled soup. She was going to try straining it through one of the emergency medical cloths to filter out the chunks of vegetables that remained.
"Don't," Castillo urged.
"I won't make you eat it," Tasha assured him. "This was my fault."
"You aren't responsible for the universe," Castillo said. "Why do you feel everything is your fault? Like you have to fix the world?"
Tasha sat back on her knees and started to cry.
"Hey, no. No I didn't mean to-"
She pushed away Richard's offer of support.
"Can't even die right," Tasha muttered.
A powerful gust of wind rippled across the frozen landscape. Tasha clutched her arms across her body, hoping to hold onto what little heat she retained.
The wind picked up, showing no signs of stopping. And there was little protection in their makeshift camp.
Richard grabbed the supplies. He hurriedly stuffed them behind a rock to stop the shrubbery from blowing away. There was almost nothing on Narendra to use for fuel – so what they had was precious.
"Yar!" he called out.
Tasha abandoned the spilled soup and joined him sandwiched between their supplies against a large rock formation that provided cover against the wind.
Tasha welcomed both the emergency blanket and the body heat as she settled in next to him.
Castillo offered her the pack of water biscuits. Tasha only shook her head. She didn't feel right eating what she considered 'his' supplies.
She was supposed to be dead already. There was a chance he might survive, that Starfleet might send a search and rescue team. And Tasha was going to do everything she could to get him there.
"You need to eat too," Castillo insisted.
"I'm not hungry," Tasha lied. "Certainly not for those."
She sighed and rested her head back against the cool rock.
"I like the jammy dodgers. Used to always trade for them when we were on battle rations," Tasha shared.
Castillo grinned. It was a welcome change that she had opened up – even if it was only in a small way.
"Mum always made these thumbprint cookies with apricot jam," Castillo said.
He could recall the memory of that taste perfectly.
"On days like this, that first big freeze – she'd always make a double batch," Castillo said.
He laughed.
"Sorry. You don't want to hear about that," Castillo remarked.
He chastised himself for bringing up food at time when they were both hungry.
"Tell me?" Tasha requested.
Richard was about to change the subject. But Tasha looped her arm through his. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
Richard cleared his throat.
"Well uh…"
"I don't have many good memories. I'd love to listen to yours," Tasha explained.
"Right. Well, back home when the weather gets like this everything freezes. I used to spend hours out at the pond near our house playing pickup games of ice hockey or just skating around," Castillo explained.
Tasha glanced up.
"You know how to ice skate?" she asked.
"Not very well," Richard replied.
"I always wanted to learn to ice skate," Tasha shared.
It was one more thing among a list of many items Tasha would never get to accomplish.
"Maybe in my next life," Tasha remarked.
They both laughed. What started as a small, choking sound soon devolved into a fit of laughter.
"Laugh or cry," Tasha said when she finally calmed enough to speak.
"Now you sound like my mother," Richard said. "There was always a lot of laughter in that house."
He had many fond memories of his time there. He adored his mother. She was a good woman and her home had been filled with love.
"Where I grew up, it's pretty small. Not this remote – but one of those little towns with nothing more than a crumbling town hall, a pub, one of those dealers on the edge of town selling used harvesters," Castillo described.
He'd never thought much of his home before. It seemed so small and insignificant compared to his life in Starfleet. But his mother was there and that was enough for Richard.
"It's pretty far north so winter comes early. And when that first snowfall hit everybody raced to get their fairy lights up in time for the holidays," Richard went on.
His brow furrowed.
"I think that's why I always liked the cold. Mum was always baking. We had this old wood stove. And at night after I'd come in from a day of mucking about, I'd help her make dinner. We'd settle in and we'd talk for hours," Richard said.
Richard fell silent. It was too painful to talk about his mother anymore. He couldn't risk the tears.
"I'm sorry," Tasha said.
Castillo sniffled.
"I'm so sorry," Tasha apologised.
Richard laughed softly.
"Not everything is your fault, Yar," Richard said.
Present
It was like a blast from the past seeing a picture of his mother on the front page of his hometown newspaper.
"She still lives there. Same address as your Starfleet admission records," Tasha said.
Richard paused to wipe his eyes.
"She's probably still got my baseball cards in my room," Castillo remarked.
Tasha smiled. She was glad to see him relaxing.
"I don't know when… um, that is to say there are certain travel restrictions in place at the moment. It's not you," Tasha said quickly. "Sort of a Starfleet-wide unofficial order."
Gods, I sound like an idiot. Tasha thought.
"What I'm trying to say is that I don't know when you'll be able to reconnect in person. I'm sure the brass will want to interview you," Tasha said. "But you could write a letter. We could send it via subspace – we could even arrange a video call."
Richard froze.
"I-I-I can't see her. I wouldn't know what to say. Where to begin," Richard stammered.
"Why not try hello?" Tasha suggested.
Tasha bit her lip in the way she did whenever she was anxious, and Richard had to turn away to avoid saying something that risked breaking the timeline.
Tasha could tell she'd touched on a raw subject.
"Don't worry. You'll have time to figure things out. And Counsellor Troi will be by tomorrow to check in with you," Tasha said.
Counsellor? Great. Richard thought.
He certainly couldn't open up to a counsellor.
"Why did you do this?" Richard asked.
Tasha shrugged.
"I guess I just thought about what you said this morning," Tasha said. "And I couldn't stop thinking about it."
The weight of Castillo's request had felt like a burden all day.
"I couldn't stop thinking about your mum. About what it must feel like to be a parent and lose your child like that," Tasha shared. "No one should have to wonder if their child is safe. If they're alive. I just can't-"
Tasha stopped herself and cleared her throat.
She was becoming too emotionally invested.
She felt sorry for Castillo, for all the survivors. They'd lost so much of their lives to Romulan captivity. Tasha could imagine returning was like coming back to a whole new world.
"Oh! I read that you like to skate. Ice skate that is. I saw it in your personnel file and well," Tasha said, pausing to rock her head back and forth. "Your hometown seems a bit obsessed with anything cold weather."
Tasha flashed him one of her brilliant smiles.
"The holodeck has some wonderful programmes," Tasha said.
"You like to skate?" Castillo asked.
"My favourite sport – but don't let that get around," Tasha said.
She was beaming. It took all of Richard's self-control not to cry.
"That's… grand," he managed to get out without his voice cracking.
Tasha got the hint that he wanted to be left alone.
"I'm sorry. You're tired," she said, backing toward the door.
"Mmm hmm," Richard nodded, keeping his lips tight.
"Well, goodnight," Tasha said with a small nod.
As soon as the door shut, Castillo collapsed into his chair. He sat with a strange mix of emotions – laughing as he wept.
She seemed happy.
She'd learned to skate.
She was glowing.
Richard Castillo had never before felt so relieved and heartbroken at the same time. She deserved every moment of happiness.
Castillo got up from his seat and made a beeline for the replicator. He ordered a glass of whisky and lifted it.
"Cheers to you, Tuula," Castillo said.
After slamming it down, Castillo decided it was time to enjoy his first hot shower in ages.
The door to Data's quarters slid open. Tasha Yar stepped inside and slipped out of her boots. She threw her arms behind her. Tasha arched her back, stretching in an effort to relieve the pain there.
It was only 19:00 hours - but it had been a long day.
After downing enough hot and spicy pineapple tofu to feed a small army, Tasha took a quick shower and then climbed in bed with a book.
With all the extra time on her hands from the travel restrictions, Tasha was making steady progress on the Sherlock Holmes holonovel she had planned for Data.
Geordi and Worf were helping with the programming and logistics – but it was all on Tasha to design the story elements.
She'd spent nearly a year researching the original texts, the history and technology of the era, as well as mapping historic London.
Tasha picked up her tablet from the nightstand. With a heavy yawn, she opened the restricted file to continue reading about Victorian-era steam trains.
She never made it beyond the first paragraph.
Data arrived home an hour later after catching drinks at Ten Forward with Geordi, Worf, and Chief O'Brien.
They'd decided to round out the evening with a game of darts before Data decided to call it a night.
He wasn't the least bit surprised to discover Tasha already fast asleep in bed.
After futzing about with his own night-time routine, Data snuck in under the covers and spooned up behind her.
Tasha stirred.
"Go back to sleep," Data whispered before pressing a soft kiss next to Tasha's ear.
"Mmm," Tasha groaned.
A pleasant, warm feeling enveloped Tasha as Data slid his arm over her body to hold her close.
Suddenly, Tasha sniffed at the air. She frowned and rolled over, burying her face against Data's chest. Tasha inhaled deeply.
Her eyes fluttered open as she tried to identify the aroma.
"You smell different," Tasha said before quickly assuring Data that wasn't a bad thing. "Like charcoal and something else."
"I decided to visit the spa today," Data shared.
Tasha grinned and snuggled down against his body.
"Mmm. I like it," Tasha said. "Prepping for Føroyar?"
"I suppose you could say that," Data answered.
"Are you going to be one of those spa junkies? Spend our whole trip getting pampered?" Tasha teased.
Data looped his fingers through Tasha's hand and brought it to his lips.
"Not the whole trip," he replied.
Jean-Luc was tense.
He'd tried a stroll around the ship. He had attempted to lose himself in a book. When that had failed to capture his attention, Jean-Luc had sought more desperate measures – even going so far as to drop by the primary school music performance.
There was something in the way Castillo behaved that Picard couldn't reconcile.
Jean-Luc had recognised a man struggling with his feelings, fighting against a force greater than honour or duty.
It was the same struggle Jean-Luc battled every day of his life.
And that inability to find peace had led him to Castillo's door.
"Captain?" Castillo said, surprised by his presence.
He had just stepped out of a long overdue hot shower. He felt cleaner that he had in two decades and the soft dressing gown was a welcome bonus.
Jean-Luc didn't wait for an invitation.
"Your questions. You weren't just curious. Your aversion to speaking about this situation – it's not just about the timeline, is it?" Picard surmised aloud.
Castillo wasn't sure what to say.
"You have feelings for her," Picard said.
Richard turned his gaze out the window. He was caught. He kicked himself internally for being too obvious.
Castillo nodded slowly, ashamed of himself.
"You love her," Picard realised.
Castillo sniffled, scratching the back of his neck.
"I did," Castillo confessed with a heavy sigh.
Now it was there, out in the open. There was no going back. It almost felt good to finally share that with someone – someone that wouldn't judge him for feelings that were beyond his control.
Richard shook his head.
It was a love stronger that he could put to words, deeper than any emotion he had ever felt. Their connection was otherworldly and yet doomed to fail.
In every iteration of the timeline it seemed. Richard thought.
"Yes. I loved her. I won't deny it and I'm not ashamed of it," Richard declared.
His voice shook.
"You loved her," Picard said in astonishment.
"From afar," Castillo said.