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In this chapter, we get to see the crew begin to interact with one another in their new roles.
As a reminder, both Doctor Crusher and Doctor Pulaski are aboard the Enterprise during this incident. Beverly has just returned, and they have yet to drop Pulaski off at her new assignment.
Tasha Yar kicked the wall in frustration.
She sighed, ran her hand back through her hair, and sat down on the floor next to the spartan sleep cot in her cell. Miles and Geordi were across the corridor in a shared cell.
Lwaxana Troi had been placed in her own cell next to them.
At Doctor Crusher's insistence, Captain Picard had been left with Tasha. Beverly advised that he had lost a lot of blood and somehow Tasha knew she had field medic training. Someone needed to watch over Captain Picard and Riker refused to release him from the Brig.
After a series of interviews with the android, they had been left alone for hours.
Suddenly, the door to the Brig slid open and the android appeared escorting a woman with an elaborate hat.
He placed her into a cell next to Tasha and Picard.
"This is a mistake," the woman said in a calm voice.
"On this vessel we do not keep the peace through such means," Data cautioned. "Until the origin of your weapon has been determined, it is everyone's best interest that you remain in custody."
"Somebody had to do something," the woman replied. "People were going to get hurt. This mutiny business has everyone on edge."
Something in Tasha told her that this woman was no threat.
"What? You just lock up dissenters now?" Tasha shouted to the android.
He stopped and turned back toward her cell and locked eyes with Tasha. The two said nothing as they stared at one another, desperately trying to recall how and why it felt so familiar.
Were they friends before? Professional colleagues?
Something more?
There was no way to know for certain. They may have never shared more than a passing glance in the corridor.
And yet…
Data was the first to find his voice.
"She brandished a modified phaser rifle in Ten Forward," Data explained. "Such a weapon in the vicinity of a large number of people is a danger to the ship."
Tasha had already been stewing for hours over the situation. She wasn't just upset about being locked up—she was concerned about the safety of everyone onboard and the fact she was helpless to do anything.
Tasha also was none too happy about the circumstances of her arrest.
She recalled the speed and strength with which this android had disarmed her earlier on the Bridge.
Tasha knew that he was much stronger than the other humanoids onboard. Her theory is that he was a key piece of Riker's takeover. It remained unclear why Riker had instigated a mutiny. But Tasha was fairly certain she had determined the 'how.'
Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Data.
"A danger to the ship?" Tasha hissed. "And how do we know you're not a danger to the ship?"
For a brief moment, hurt flashed in Data's face.
How could she think that I would do anything to harm the Enterprise?
He quickly recovered.
"For all we know you could be a weapon built to take over this ship," Tasha went on.
Data stepped closer, right up to the edge of the cell. They were separated only by a forcefield. Tasha couldn't put her finger on it, but she recognised that look.
"Do you believe I am a weapon, Tasha?" he asked sincerely.
In a flash, Tasha's resolve failed. Her anger dissipated as she watched Data blink at her, patiently awaiting an answer.
He was so human. The tone of his voice belied the hurt he felt at being accused of mutiny. Tasha realised how awful it was to suspect Data. He was probably used to being 'othered' just because of his android construction.
Tasha bit her lip. She was embarrassed at having caused him pain.
"I… I don't know."
Data nodded slowly. He wasn't surprised.
"Data—I didn't mean because you're—"
Tasha stopped and grimaced. Data deserved better than a platitude or a lie.
"It was wrong of me to suspect that you are a threat just because you're an android," Tasha said.
Data's neural net surged. He was momentarily taken aback by her concern. And for some unfathomable reason, Data was compelled to ensure her safety.
"How is your hand?" Data inquired.
"Um, fine."
Tasha unconsciously moved to cover it from view.
"And your arm? I did not hold it too tight, did I?" Data pressed.
"I'm fine," Tasha insisted.
"Please do not attempt to escape," Data warned. "Because I would be forced to stop you. And I have no desire to hurt you."
It wasn't said as a threat, but rather out of concern. He knew that Tasha was already formulating a plan to retake the Bridge. He could read it in her face.
"We are working to determine the cause of this incident," Data continued. "It is best if you remain here and heal."
Tasha frowned. She hated to be side-lined.
Suddenly, Data's combadge pinged.
"Data?"
"Data here," he responded.
"Um, I'm making dinner. And I was wondering if you… you know, eat?" Keiko inquired.
"I will be there shortly to join you," Data replied without breaking eye contact with Tasha.
He took an uncomfortable, artificial breath.
"Excuse me," Data said. "I am late for dinner with my wife."
"Wife?"
Data nodded in the affirmative.
Tasha couldn't explain why that hurt. It boggled her mind. Nevertheless, the pain was real. It was the strongest emotional flash she had experienced since the incident on the Bridge.
It stung.
"Wife?" she repeated softly.
Data cocked his head to the side as he observed this bizarre reaction.
"Why does this distress you?" he asked.
Tasha baulked, fumbling for an answer. She couldn't explain it—which only made her more furious.
"Does she know you did that to the Captain?" Tasha asked angrily as she pointed back at Picard who was resting on the bed.
Doctor Crusher had done her best to patch him up in the cell, but his wound was deep. She'd done an initial pass with the dermal regenerator, but he would need another three or four treatments to finish healing. Picard had lost a considerable amount of blood and taken a blow to the head.
Truthfully, Tasha felt that she had failed in her duty to protect him.
And now she was taking that anger out on this android.
"It is not in my programming to harm," Data said in earnest.
"Doesn't mean that whatever has caused this didn't disrupt your programming," Tasha argued.
"That is unlikely," Data explained. "My positronic brain is largely unaffected by most forms of interference, radiation, and mind-altering chemicals."
"But it can be disrupted and damaged with the use of high-energy wave pulses," Tasha countered. "Or you could have been deactivated temporarily using the switch located—"
Tasha trailed off and pointed at his lower back knowingly.
Data was aghast.
"How do you know that?"
Even with the memory loss, Data recognised it was one of his most closely guarded secrets.
"I just do," Tasha replied simply.
Data found himself at a loss for words. Tasha saw an in. She stepped forward to plead with her captor.
"I also know this is wrong," Tasha said as she looked at him imploringly. "Captain Picard doesn't belong in the brig."
"Goodnight, Lieutenant."
Data abruptly turned on his heel. When he reached the door to the corridor, he stopped at the frame and took one last glance back at Lieutenant Yar.
"Data? Data, please!"
With great reluctance, Data turned away and headed off to his quarters.
Several decks up, Commander Riker and Deanna were sitting together at Ten Forward.
"Everyone's staring at me," Riker said.
Deanna could sense he was filled with doubt.
"Deanna, can I confess something to you?" Riker asked. "You won't repeat it to Worf or Data?"
Deanna smiled.
"You can tell me," she assured him. "What's on your mind?"
"A part of me feels uncomfortable in this role," Will confessed. "Like I don't belong in the Captain's chair. Maybe it's just the way in which this came about?"
He swirled his drink around a few times, watching the ice chips spin in the amber liquid.
"Maybe it's just self-doubt? Or… or maybe they're right."
"Imposter syndrome is only natural when moving into a new role. It's a common thing among Captains," Deanna explained.
Captain Picard was incapacitated. The ship was limping through space. Regardless of how or why they reached that point, Deanna knew someone had to take charge.
"We're still missing our memories, but I… I just feel like you're a good man, Will Riker."
She couldn't risk telling him that she could sense that inside of his mind. Deanna still didn't fully understand her empathic power. She only knew that she could read people. She could sense their feelings.
And when it came to Will Riker, she could sense more.
His mind was so clear to her. Deanna felt like they shared a deep bond.
It was how she knew instinctively that Will Riker would only have seized control of the Enterprise with good reason.
"I trust you, Commander. And you need to trust yourself. The ship is in crisis. We don't have the luxury for you to doubt your abilities," Deanna urged.
Feeling more confident, Will breathed easily.
"Thanks Deanna," Will beamed. "It's so easy to talk to you."
"So, mum then, huh?" Wesley said.
"It would seem that way," Beverly replied.
Their surnames had been the first clue. It hadn't taken long to confirm that suspicion. Wesley had discovered numerous photos of the red-haired Doctor and himself that made clear they were mother and son.
They were now seated together in their family quarters around the table for dinner.
"Has the medical team had any luck in determining a cause for the memory wipe?" Wesley inquired as he scooped a portion of hotpot onto his plate.
Beverly shook her head.
"Not yet," she replied. "Doctor Pulaski is still working on it. She has a number of theories."
They ate in silence for a few moments, neither of them exactly sure what to say.
Deep down, they both understood that they knew each well. But the memory loss was a strange barrier. A whole lifetime together had been wiped away.
It left the Crushers feeling like they were strangers. They had to get to know one another all over again.
More than that, there was something gnawing away at Wesley.
"Mum, may I ask you a personal question?" Wesley asked.
Beverly paused and sat back in her chair.
She braced herself for the question. It was one she'd been waiting for since they found the photos confirming they were a family.
"Where's your father?" Beverly asked knowingly.
"Yeah."
Wes shifted uncomfortably, suddenly embarrassed by the question. There was no guarantee he had a father. He might have another mother. Or a nonbinary parent. For all he knew, his mother had raised him entirely alone.
Truth be told, the question had been at the front of Beverly's mind too. The photos they had found were of Wesley and her.
Alone.
There appeared to be no father in the picture.
Beverly thought it was possible that they just simply hadn't found enough evidence to indicate otherwise. Real photographs and holophotos were rare. Most images were stored on the computer.
It was likely that Wesley's father was somewhere on the ship and equally as affected by the memory loss.
She knew that it was entirely possible they had different surnames or that he could be from a culture that didn't have surnames.
A part of her also considered that they were divorced or that she was widowed.
And as a Doctor, she knew it was equally as possible that she had chosen to adopt or give birth to Wesley on her own. The medical technology existed, and Beverly knew herself well enough to understand she was perfectly comfortable on her own.
She didn't need a relationship to feel complete.
"When I didn't see any pictures of him in my room, I thought maybe there was a possibility he had died," Wesley told her. "And for some reason that thought made me feel worse than before."
Beverly looked at her son curiously.
"Why?" she asked, concerned.
Wesley looked down at his lap.
"Because if my dad died once and now we don't remember him at all, it's like he's gone forever," Wesley remarked.
Beverly's heart ached for her son.
It was a profound thought for someone so young.
Probably why he's a Bridge officer already. Beverly thought to herself.
In the short time she had 'known' her son since the incident, he had impressed her with his intellect and unique perspective.
"I don't know, Wes," Beverly replied honestly. "I think we'll need to wait and see."
Guinan was laying down on the cot in her cell, staring at the ceiling as she tried to sleep.
"What are you in for?" Lwaxana asked from the cell across the corridor in the Brig.
"Breaking up a fight," Guinan replied. "And you?"
"I don't know, apparently some kind of a fashion crime," Lwaxana replied.
She'd been pacing around her cell for the last hour, unable to sit still and incapable of thinking straight. Her telepathic abilities were overdrive. Lwaxana was filled with an overwhelming sense of isolation.
It was coming from all over the ship and had flooded her mind.
She realised that the memory wipe had left most of the crew feeling they couldn't trust anyone or anything. The lucky ones had been in their quarters with their families at the time of the incident.
But there were still hundreds of people missing their loved ones, their partners, their children.
More than that, their sense of self was gone—eliminated in a matter of seconds by some unknown force or entity.
The flood of emotion was mentally draining and physically painful for the Betazoid.
"I have this ability to read people," Lwaxana confessed. "It's like I can sense what other people are thinking."
"And Commander Riker thinks that's a security threat," Guinan said, finishing her thought aloud.
"Apparently so," Lwaxana huffed.
The Betazoid was frustrated by the circumstances of their imprisonment. The lighting was dim. The accommodations were lacking. And there was nothing to do for entertainment. She longed to lounge in a bath or slip into a comfortable chair.
"The least they could do is bring us some snacks," Lwaxana grumbled.
It seemed in the confusion following the incident, feeding the prisoners hadn't been on the priority list.
Fortunately, they did have access to water in their cells.
"How can you sleep at a time like this?" Lwaxana asked.
Guinan was still lying on her back in her cell. She seemed to be perfectly at ease.
"What else am I going to do?" the bartender retorted.
Next door to Guinan, a groan brought Tasha out of her sleep. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. The cell only had one cot and that was currently occupied.
Tasha's eyes flew open as she felt someone shift on the cot behind her.
"Sir, try to stay still," Tasha urged.
He opened his eyes and studied the woman that was sitting next to him. Captain reached up to cup her face. Tasha caught his hand and smiled.
"Your face is familiar," he said.
"It's good to see you awake, sir."
Captain Picard glanced around the cell in confusion.
"You were injured, sir," Tasha informed him. "You lost quite a bit of blood."
It was dark.
Captain Picard blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
"This is the Brig," Picard commented as he observed their surroundings.
Tasha nodded.
"Yes, sir. We're being held prisoner. Do you remember who you are?"
Captain Picard closed his eyes and sighed. He was having trouble recalling much of anything.
"You're Captain Jean-Luc Picard," Tasha explained. "Captain of the USS Enterprise."
Picard nodded slowly. At the very least, that was coming back to him.
"How do I know you?" Picard asked.
There was a deep sense of familiarity, but he couldn't place it.
"Best as we can gather, I'm your First Officer, Captain… I think."
"Think?"
His brow furrowed. He didn't follow.
"There was an incident, sir," Tasha explained. "This may take some time to process."
Deanna was out strolling the corridor. She was on her third pass of Deck 7.
There was so much uncertainty floating about that it was difficult to find sleep.
She'd tried herbal tea.
And a hot bath.
Now, she was wandering along in hopes of clearing her mind.
Deanna paused outside of door 2713. She had passed by the same door three times already on her midnight stroll.
On each subsequent trip, she could sense that there was someone inside who did not share the collective sense of self-doubt that was radiating from the other crew members.
It was as if this person was not bothered, that they had found some way to shut down that portion of their mind.
Deanna was drawn to it.
Compared to the overwhelming confusion and sense of loss that was pouring out of the minds of the crew, this self-confidence was like a welcome breath of fresh air.
Like a moth to a flame, she couldn't help herself.
It was a late, but not unreasonable hour.
She finally reached the point that curiosity now outweighed her fear.
Summoning her courage, Deanna hit the chime on the door.
The door slid aside to reveal Lieutenant Worf.
Deanna smiled, pleasantly surprised to find her Klingon colleague. In their short time together, Deanna had sensed a great emotional depth within Worf. He had the heart of a poet—even if he tried to hide it under his warrior façade.
"Hello, Worf," she said brightly.
"Deanna."
The lights were dim inside his quarters save for a series of candles lit throughout the space. It offered a warm, inviting glow.
"Am I interrupting?" Deanna inquired.
"I am meditating," Worf replied.
"I can come back later," Deanna said quickly.
One thing she could recall is that Klingons liked to be alone. They were solitary people and revered their own personal time.
She made it only a few steps before Worf's voice stopped her.
"You would be welcome to join," Worf offered.
Worf may have outwardly appeared to be a stoic warrior, but he was surprisingly intuitive. He could tell from her body language that she was looking for a friend.
He also couldn't rationalise it, but deep-down Worf knew that Deanna was an extremely open-minded person and would not judge his Klingon meditation ritual.
Once inside, they sat down across from each other on the floor.
Worf offered her a mug of fresh Raktajino.
"Thank you, Worf," Deanna responded as he handed her the steaming Klingon coffee.
Worf nodded and returned the kettle to its place over a mobile heating unit.
"You seem strangely at ease," Deanna commented.
"Advancement through death and mutiny are not uncommon among Klingon ships," Worf replied. "In fact, it is the duty of a Klingon First Officer to assassinate the Captain when he becomes weak or unfit."
Deanna chuckled.
She stopped the moment she saw Worf's face.
"You are not joking," she realised aloud.
"No, I am not," Worf replied simply.
Deanna was embarrassed. She hadn't meant to mock his culture.
"I'm sorry, Worf," she apologised.
If he was offended, he didn't show it.
"I am certain that Commander Riker had ample reason to take action," Worf assured her.
Deanna nodded in agreement as she took a sip from her mug.
The flavour was stronger than she had anticipated, but not unpleasant.
"I agree," Deanna said. "He doesn't seem like the type of man to take advantage of a situation for his own advancement. I'm sure there was a legitimate reason. And he's just trying to keep everyone safe."
"And as his crew, we have a duty to protect him and this ship," Worf added.
As she studied Worf, Deanna picked up on a new feeling.
"You're worried that the officers in the Brig are going to try and retake the ship," Deanna said.
Worf cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Wouldn't you?" he remarked.
By the time she had finished explaining the situation, Captain Picard had no doubt this willowy blonde was his First Officer.
She knew the schematics of the ship and had already developed a number of possible escape plans—plans that were difficult to implement given the Captain's injuries.
Tasha was hesitant to leave the Captain behind. And she couldn't move him easily given his condition.
Keenly, Tasha knew they were likely being observed through audio or video monitoring. Under the guise of checking his wounds, she whispered the first plan to him.
The Doctor was planning to come back tomorrow and check on his status.
It was up to the Captain to feign a worse injury.
Tasha was hopeful that she could offer to 'help' and steal a piece of equipment from the Doctor's kit. They would need a tricorder or dermal regenerator—something with enough power that Tasha could eject a focused charge at the junction of the wall panels in order to access the ventilation system.
"We need to get you out of here, but I'm worried about your wound reopening," Tasha explained. "Can't jostle you around too much, sir."
"While I appreciate that sentiment, what's most important is figuring out what happened to Commander Riker and the rest of us," Picard replied. "Priority number one is regaining control of the ship."
"Sir, you know that the minute we disappear they're going to double security in key areas—The Bridge, Main Engineering, the Battle Bridge," Tasha theorised. "And they'll run a deck-by-deck sweep."
The Bridge could release a chemical agent and knock everyone out before they even knew what had hit them.
"Our best bet is to escape to a shuttle," Tasha said. "I can modify the frequency resonators to give us six maybe, eight minutes of cover to escape."
Picard shook his head.
"No. I won't allow that. We still don't know what's caused this memory loss," Picard said. "We could be introducing a virus or contagion to any Starship or Starbase we encounter."
Tasha opened her mouth to protest but Picard anticipated this.
"We can't risk infecting anyone else," Picard ordered. "If this even is an infection."
Tasha sat back on her knees.
"I want options, Number One," Picard said. "Options that don't put anyone else at risk."
While the Captain and Lieutenant Yar conspired, Doctor Pulaski was up to her eyeballs in theories in Sickbay.
Her research was limited because the computers were still down.
Fortunately, Kat Pulaski was a resourceful woman. She already had a number of ideas as to what may be causing the ship-wide memory loss.
She'd taken numerous blood samples and was just waiting for Engineering to get the medical diagnostic equipment back online.
Meanwhile, there was plenty of work to stay busy.
The memory loss meant crew members were working on systems they had no knowledge of—or had forgotten key user steps.
Sickbay was flooded with patients. There were minor plasma burns and scrapes from sparking consoles and power conduits. All of this occurred on top of the numerous fractures, broken limbs, and head injuries that had occurred during the initial incident.
Whatever happened had shaken the ship good.
Katherine Pulaski was thankful that most of the hyposprays, basic tricorders, and dermal and osteogenic regenerators were still working.
It was enough to provide basic treatment. Yet their advanced care machines and diagnostic equipment were still not functioning.
Worst of all, Doctor Pulaski knew that the field equipment wouldn't stay charged forever.
They'd already had to put rudimentary splints on the breaks and were treating some of the deeper lacerations with the ancient 'pressure on the wound' measure.
Most of all, Katherine Pulaski was thankful for Doctor Beverly Crusher.
That woman really knew her way around Sickbay and had a calm head. To Katherine's delight, Crusher also shared a passion for medical history and had studied extensively some of the more primitive medical treatments.
She'd had no protest when Pulaski had ordered splints on the broken bones.
Sometimes medicine required creativity, and Crusher wasn't afraid to try.
For Pulaski, it was a wonder that Crusher wasn't the CMO on some other ship.
"I know the answer is in there," Pulaski said aloud to one of the samples. "You may be able to hide for now, but as soon as my diagnostic computer is back online, I'm going to find you."
Beverly rolled over onto her back.
A weight had settled in her chest that made it sleep elusive.
Will Riker didn't seem like the type of person to lead a mutiny.
And Jean-Luc Picard wasn't the kind to violate Starfleet orders.
Beverly rubbed her temples as she tried to sort through the events of the day.
Her plea to Riker for clemency under the guise of being a medical professional had been intentional. Beverly knew she was the only one standing with Picard who could make such a request.
She didn't know what happened on the Bridge, but it seemed she was the only person who hadn't chosen a side.
The officers near Picard had been ready to defend his claim to command with their very lives. And those supporting Riker had done so without a second thought.
The crew was divided and that didn't bode well for the Enterprise.
Unless that's what someone wants. A sneaky little voice said in Beverly's mind.
Beverly rolled onto her side and frowned as she considered this possibility.
Starfleet vessels had dealt with their fair share of takeover attempts before—the Pakleds, the Ferengi, Acamarian raiders.
This would be the perfect opportunity for someone to overtake the Enterprise.
Hell, they may already have. She speculated.
She needed more information—from both Picard and Riker—in order to figure out what was really going on.
And that would require being free to move about outside of the Brig.
It meant she could trust no one.
Beverly rolled to her side and curled up against her pillow feeling more alone than she had in ages.
