Achilles Heel

Conclusion

The return to their own universe was a priority for Picard and Janeway; they had to know if Ardra had reappeared after a week-long absence. Had she simply taken a hiatus? It wasn't like her. The two officers piloted their shuttle out of the dimensional octagon inside the sphere, where the Enterprise awaited. Riker informed them that Ardra was indeed back, aboard ship to be precise, but he withheld further info until they docked.

"Admiral on deck", called the duty officer as Janeway exited into the hangar bay, followed by Picard.

"At ease," she said. Turning to Picard: "Since everyone is being so mysterious, let's ask the computer what's going on. Computer: location of Ardra."

"Ardra is on holodeck one."

Picard made a rueful expression. "Par for the course. I wonder if she's unwinding or looking for answers."

"Find out," Janeway said. "I'll brief the staff on developments in the Outworld."

Minutes later, Picard arrived outside holodeck one, noting the current program running. "Computer: synopsis of 'Sanford and Son'."

"Sanford and Son operated a junk center in Watts, California in the twentieth century. Sanford senior dreamed of quick fame and riches."

A common theme from that era, Picard recalled. He entered what appeared to be a side yard cluttered with castoffs of all types. His knock on the door brought a tall black man to answer it. "Pardon the intrusion. I'm looking for a woman called Ardra."

"She's here. Come on in." The inside was just as full of junk items as outside. Ardra occupied a shawl-draped sofa, next to an older black man in a rocker.

"Johnny!" Ardra greeted. "This is Fred Sanford and his son, Lamont. I can't account for the last week, so I'm looking for insight from zany characters who have an outside perspective. Counselor Troi was no help. She thinks I had some sort of breakdown." She patted the cushion. "Did you find out what happened to me?"

"We did. You recall the assassin Jili. She provoked a showdown with Inquest assassins by eliminating their High Inquestor. Had we not intervened to inform her about you, she may have taken some action that endangered Sisra."

Ardra frowned on one side of her mouth. "It always comes down to that girl. I asked your computer what other trouble she could get into. It said the Borg could access the demon plane, which is the source of monsters the maze teams battle. If some of them came up from the depths, that's the end of Montfort—and Sisra. But I don't see any way Queenie can pull that off."

"Let's not underestimate her," Picard said.

Fred Sanford scowled. "Can y'all have this summit meetin' somewhere else? Where you come from, anyway? You look like somethin' out a comic book."

Perched on the sofa arm, Lamont said, "Be nice, Pop. The lady is lookin' for answers to a problem."

"By the way," Fred went on. "Did you pick up that water heater lyin' on the curb over at State Street?"

Lamont shrugged. "Not yet. I had a lot of runs to make today."

"Big dummy! Now the gobbage man gon' git it!"

"Cool it, Pop! We have guests!"

Picard, caught in the crossfire, said, "Ardra, perhaps we're interrupting family business."

"Not at all," she countered. "Fred had a fine idea. He said I shouldn't let anyone know I'm back. If the Borg are up to anything, we'll know soon enough. That includes the Romulans."

Picard pondered a moment. "That means lying to our allies and foes alike. They won't appreciate it. At the very least, Star Fleet has to know. They've been quite anxious."

"What's a Borg?" Fred asked.

Ardra patted his knee. "Half machine, half zombie. Or zuvembie if it's a woman."

"How 'bout that?" Fred grinned. "That's what you call female zombies?"

"Regardless," Picard put in, "they're equally deadly, since they instantly convert others."

Fred made a show of brushing himself off. "Y'all didn't bring no microbes in here, did ya?"

"Aw, Pop," Lamont complained. "That isn't how zombies work. You need a witch doctor." He addressed Picard. "Isn't that how they do it?"

"Much faster," Picard said. "They inject you with a finger probe and fill you with nanites."

Ardra rushed to reassure them. "You don't have to worry. We didn't encounter them until two hundred years from now."

"That's good to know," Lamont said, rising with them as they went to the door. "I still ain't buyin' you bein' from the future. That's all scifi stuff. Are you sure you aren't speculators with an eye on this property?"

Picard grinned as he stepped out. "We don't go anywhere as conquerors. Good day." They exited the program. Outside in the corridor: "Can we lay this Achilles Heel to rest? The Borg no longer have an artifact in the Outworld they can use for time travel."

"Maybe not. But what about the other Borg who built that ancient ship? They're still out there somewhere." She waved a hand. "Oh, I know the orbiting Colossus is an old Tekniker defense system, but just how much can it handle? I wish we had a way to get starships into that dimension." She stopped with sudden realization.

Picard had the same one. "Ardra, it's true that Outworld is simply a thousand years in the past of Commander Moast's reality. It's also true he has a time sphere that can reach Earth two hundred years in his own past. But in so doing, he permanently froze the time sphere controls to prevent anyone going further back and tampering with time."

"Anyone but me," Ardra said with a leer. "I can get it working again if I have to." She worked her neck as if letting out the strain. "That makes me feel better. I'll send the entire Star Fleet back there if I have to."

They resumed walking, with Picard feeling Sisra was now his Achilles Heel. Ardra headed for Ten Forward.

"I'm meeting Data there," she explained. "He's curious about English slang. So am I, actually. I asked the computer for a sample of early Americana called Bluegrass. I can't make anything of it, and it certainly has Data stumped. Care to try your hand?"

"Me? I propose bringing in someone with the right connections. Ensign Jensen likes country and Bluegrass. I'll defer to her as the resident expert." He made the summons on his combadge, and the three united at the bar, where Data waited.

The dark-haired ensign sat next to him and scanned the data entry on Data's pad. "You really picked an obscure title, Commander. People who went to that region pretty much needed a translator."

"Shall we begin the selection?" Data activated the device. The tune was an older variant of "White Lightnin'". All four listened with puzzled faces.

"Well, a city slicker came and he said I'm it, I think I'll have a drink of that powerful sh-. He took one mcslug and he joog it right down, and I heered him a'moanin' as he headin' fer the ground! Mighty mighty pleasin', my pappy's corn squeezin—white lightnin'!"

"Curious," Jensen said. "It has elements of highland Scots, as well as black inner city slang. That region must have been in mountains not far from the east coast."

"But what does it mean?" Data insisted.

Jensen smiled. "A poser took a drink and passed out. The whole idea is to keep outsiders guessing what you're talking about."

"Curious," Data said. "That is not conducive to clear communication."

"But it is stylish," Ardra decided. "I'm going to hear the whole album in my quarters."

Data came around to speak candidly with Picard. "Is this wise, Captain? Ardra is eccentric enough as it is."

Picard sampled his drink. "Hm. Perhaps it's the source of her power, Data. One never knows."