Chapter Seventeen

G EORDI LA FORGE WAS ALREADY STUNNED from hearing the outcome of the inquiry when he got even more bad news. Data was back with the S.C.E. They wanted advice on how to take him apart. La Forge moved at light speed to get down to the Starfleet compound and into the labs of Commander Moroz.

Once again, he walked in and found Data stretched out complacently on a workbench, with the Bolian and his assistants gathered around, ready to take apart his best friend.

“Hello, Geordi,” said Data pleasantly.

“What’s going on?” demanded La Forge. “Why is Data back in here?”

The Bolian frowned and answered, “By order of Admiral Nakamura, Data’s emotion chip must be removed and handed over to the S.C.E.”

“You can’t do that!” exclaimed Geordi. “It’s a very delicate operation-it’s not supposed to be removed!”

“Then could you do please do it for us?” asked Moroz sheepishly. “I don’t want to hurt your friend, and I’m sure you could remove it better than I could.”

“Yes,” agreed Data, “La Forge has clocked many hours with his hands inside my head.”

“Thanks, Data,” said the engineer, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that I can’t do it-it’s the principle of the thing! I don’t agree that his emotion chip is dangerous to him or anyone else. He hasn’t been convicted of any wrongdoing. You don’t have the right to take his emotion chip!”

Data turned his head and replied, “Yes, they do, Geordi. Because I did not have the emotion chip when I was admitted to Starfleet, it can be considered add-on equipment. Regulation ninety-four, section three, paragraph twelve clearly states that Starfleet gets to determine the equipment and clothing I am to bear on my person while on duty. Admiral Nakamura has decided that my emotion chip is not standard equipment and should be removed.”

The android frowned slightly. “I will miss my chip, but perhaps someday it can be restored. In the meantime, I have the memories of my feelings.”

La Forge took a deep breath, and his voice was hoarse when he replied, “This is one time I wish I could turn off my emotions, but I can’t. This isn’t fair, Data-you haven’t done anything wrong!”

“We’re talking about orders from an admiral, not right and wrong,” said the Bolian. “Commander, will you help us or not?”

“Step aside,” grumbled La Forge, grabbing a spanner out of Moroz’s hand. “Starfleet’s done enough damage to us already. I’ll take it out, but this is a dark day. For two bolts, I’d give you my commander’s bars to go along with Data’s emotion chip. You can give them to Admiral Nakamura, too.”

“Do not be angry,” cautioned Data. “Perhaps I aspired too much to be human.”

Geordi sniffed back a tear and put an arm around his friend’s shoulder.

 

Picard sat in a spartan but comfortable cell in the bowels of Starfleet Command. He tried to read one of the Dixon Hill books they had brought him. On a small table built into the wall sat his dinner, hardly touched. The condemned man did not eat a hearty meal, he thought disgruntledly.

As he sat alone, in silence, Picard began to realize that he couldn’t blame Starfleet for his woes. He had made genuine mistakes in Rashanar, including that he had failed to comprehend how much danger they were in. He had ignored the warnings of Captain Leeden, also he had failed to protect her. Something in that ships’ graveyard was alive and deadly. It was fulfilling its own twisted agenda without any regard for the living or the dead. It had to be responsible for the wholesale destruction that accompanied the Battle of Rashanar. Eventually it might tire of its devastated fish bowl and go elsewhere.

That entity landed me in this cell, he told himself. I’ve got to find out what is haunting Rashanar-what has destroyed my life.

A security officer walked past his doorway and looked in through the shimmer of the forcefield. “Captain, Admiral Nechayev is on her way to see you. She should be here any minute.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Picard, closing his book and setting it on the table beside his uneaten dinner. He took a drink of the tea he had ordered, but it had gone cold.

At my age, I don’t have that much longer. Do I really want to spend the rest of it as a prisoner?

“Picard,” said a familiar voice, snapping him out of his reverie. It was Admiral Nechayev, looking winded, as if she’d been running. She looked expectantly at the guard and grumbled, “Open the door, Lieutenant.”

“But visitors usually talk through the forcefield,” said the security officer.

“Now,” she ordered softly. Sensing the danger he was in, the guard quickly killed the forcefield, allowing her to step inside Picard’s cell. Nechayev seldom exchanged pleasantries, and she wasn’t going to start now. “I’ve been to see Commodore Korgan,” she began, “and we may have hammered something out.”

Picard rose and pointed to his lone chair. “Won’t you sit down, Admiral?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she answered, slumping into the proffered seat. “I don’t imagine you mind standing.”

“No,” he murmured.

She slapped her hands on her thighs. “Well, Picard, we need a way out of this that will save face for everyone. To put it bluntly, we need you to take one for the team. It’s an old phrase; it means-“

“I know what it means,” he answered with a scowl. “A little blood to appease the masses.”

“No, just the Ontailians,” she muttered. “They’ve withdrawn their threat to leave the Federation.”

“I see,” he said, wondering what that meant for him.

The admiral bristled at his look of disapproval. “I need you not to fight this, Jean-Luc,” the admiral said. “I need you to give up any thoughts of appealing the decision before your evaluations are completed. When you pass them”-and Picard noted gratefully that the admiral did not seem to harbor any doubts about the outcome of the tests-“you’ll be found to have done nothing less than any other Starfleet captain would have done in those bizarre circumstances. That will give us some breathing room and some time to get back into Rashanar. Once we’re there, we hope to find proof that will exonerate you completely. The Ontailians say they’ll still be looking for debris from the Vuxhal, and let them. Given time, I think we can find enough to back up Data’s story.”

She mustered a smile. “Worst-case scenario, in a couple of months all of this will have blown over, and the Ontailians will have lost track of you. This case will never be reopened. Cabot is on board with this-the only one who still needs to sign off is you.”

“I realize this gets all the paperwork signed and sealed,” said Picard, “but what will actually happen to me?”

“You’ll be in the custody of Counselor Cabot at Medical Mental Health.”

The captain stopped pacing, and his lips thinned. “When do I get a chance to prove my innocence?”

Nechayev winced slightly and rose to her feet. “We’ve still got to negotiate to get Starfleet back into Rashanar, and then we can correct all the problems.”

Picard chuckled. ” ‘Correct the problems.’ You sound like me when I first went to Rashanar. Admiral, you had better go to the boneyard ready to hunt some targ, because a big targ lives in there.”

“So do you agree to this deal?” asked Nechayev impatiently. “If Admiral Ross could come in here and beg you, he would. He begged me to convince you. Say the word, and you’re out of here tonight.”

“For a nicer cell,” Picard muttered. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. What if everyone loses track of me in the system?”

“You get three or four weeks’ vacation,” answered Nechayev. “Buy us some time, Picard. Help us hold the Federation together at a critical juncture.”

He finally nodded, telling himself that it was only temporary. Admiral Nechayev nodded in return and bellowed, “Lieutenant! Let us out of here!”

 

“This is nice,” said Will Riker, making a show of admiring Captain Picard’s log cabin inside Medical Mental Health, which he now called home. “Is there a trout stream out back?”

“I wish,” answered Picard, working his rocking chair harder. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and khakis in order to look more at home in his fancy cage. It seemed absurd to sit around in his uniform as if he were about to take charge of the bridge. At least entertaining visitors now was no problem; also he no longer had to take psychology tests. He was already certified “impaired” and “guilty,” which meant that his trials were over, along with his career.

“What is out back?” asked Riker, growing uneasy with the captain’s silence.

Picard shrugged and kept rocking. “I don’t know. The doors don’t actually function, at least not for me. How is the crew holding up?”

The commander shook his head. “Not well. It’s like we’ve all got a dark cloud hanging over us. Beverly, Geordi, several of the crew, are talking about resigning from Starfleet.”

“No, don’t let them do that,” said Picard with alarm. “I made this deal to buy us some time.”

“After we get under way on a new mission, maybe they’ll have the old spirit,” muttered Riker, although he didn’t sound convinced.

The captain rose to his feet and gave his old first officer a chipper pat on the back. “Hang in there, Number One. You’ve got to hold that crew together until you get another ship-the Enterprise needs you.”

“I know.” The acting captain squared his big shoulders and tried to shake off the gloom. “We’ve had a few repairs. Then we’ve got a test flight scheduled later today. So I’d better get back. You hang in there, too, Captain. They say you won’t be here long.”

After two days, his stay already seemed an eternity, but the captain didn’t say so. He kept hoping that his eventual release was not a figment of his friends’ imaginations. They kept saying he would be out soon, but nobody ever said when.

“Thank you for visiting, Will,” declared the captain, mustering a smile. “I’m sure they’ll assign you to a great ship.”

They shook hands, and Riker tapped his combadge and called for an orderly. When the door opened, orderlies stood guard outside. The captain sighed and slumped back into his rocking chair.

As he rocked, he thought about the mimic ship inside Rashanar-the thing that had taken away his life. Had he blown it up? Somehow he didn’t think so.

 

Morose and thinking about resigning her post in Starfleet, Beverly Crusher wandered through the lush gardens of Starfleet Academy. It was spring and the first sunny day after a rainy week; the blossoms were bursting with life and color. The air smelled like a perfume store. But none of this brought her much solace, not when Jean-Luc had been imprisoned indefinitely.

Walking through this garden, Beverly couldn’t help but think of the many happy times when she, Jack, and Wesley had frolicked here. Jean-Luc had been their best friend in those early days. The world had been their oyster back then, and they had no inkling of the tragedies and turmoil that awaited them.

Beverly hadn’t spent so much time at the Academy since the year she took off from the Enterprise to run Starfleet Medical. They wanted her back for that job, but her confidence in Starfleet was severely shaken. She had almost thrown up when she had to write an explanation of how she ignored Jean-Luc’s “condition” to let him serve in an “impaired” state. It had been very difficult not to pen a resignation letter at the same time, but she bit her tongue for his sake. She knew Geordi was equally upset over the treatment Data had gotten. He was considering resignation. They had trusted Admiral Nechayev to look out for Jean-Luc’s best interests, but now she realized he had been sold out for the sake of political expediency.

As Crusher wandered between rows of daffodils and pansies, more Academy memories came flooding back to her, especially those involving Wesley. The Academy had been the scene of her son’s greatest shame, although that was difficult to say for sure anymore, because he might have done something truly hideous since leaving with the Traveler. Still it would be hard to top having lied about the details of a fatal crash in his flight squad.

So much has happened to me in this place, she mused. Is this where I will chuck it all? If only I knew why I keep going…when there’s no hope of seeing him again.

“Mom,” said a gentle voice that seemed to float on the breeze.

“My imagination,” grumbled Beverly, thinking she was going crazy. Then a tall shadow darkened her path, followed by a face that had aged and lost its baby fat but was still youthful and handsome.

She gasped and staggered backward, and he had to reach out to catch her. “Mom,” he said with a smile, “it’s really me.”

“Wes!” She collapsed into his arms, weeping with joy. “Wes! Wes!” She ran her hands all over his face and into his hair, which looked as if it had been cut by bald humanoids. He was wearing a civilian suit of clothes and looked very handsome. “Is it really you? You’re not a dream or a hallucination?”

“No, Mom, you know I’m real.” A few pedestrians strolled by, smiling at their joyful reunion.

Beverly staggered on her feet and said, “I think I have to sit down.”

“There’s a bench right over here.” His strong grip guided her down the sidewalk to the oaken bench, and she marveled that her son was a man. Actually he was much more than that-how much more she didn’t know.

As they sat on the bench, she stammered, “How…how did you get here? Are you still with the Traveler?”

“I am a Traveler,” he replied, “at least for now. I’ve wanted so badly to come home, but I had to finish my training. I sneaked a peek at you a few times while you were sleeping, just to make sure you were okay. I wish I could have let you see me, but my training was very strict. I’ve witnessed things you wouldn’t believe, Mom, but nothing as unfair as what happened to Captain Picard. I tried to ignore it and turn my back, but I can’t any longer.”

“So you know what happened!” she said with relief. Then her face drooped, and she gripped his hands in hers. “You’re too late to help him, but he would love to see you. Why have you come back now, Wesley?”

The young man answered, “To save the Enterprise.”