Part 17 (2/2)
In his mind's eye, Picard could picture what must have happened. The colony's sensor array had picked up the approach of an unfamiliar vessel, but discounted it as just another alien s.h.i.+p making use of its facilities.
At least, at first. Then, as the vessel had gotten closer, it had powered up its weapons banks-something no peaceful alien would do. And the officer in charge of the sensor array had instantly contacted Commodore Travers for instructions.
After all, the sensor reading could have been a mistake; the equipment might have malfunctioned. And even if the reading was accurate, it didn't necessarily mean there would be hostilities.
Once again, Picard could see Harold's face as it had appeared on the Enterprise's mission tape, wan and hollow-eyed. As if he had seen the recording only yesterday, he could hear the man's horrified account.
”They knocked out our phaser batteries with their first salvo. We weren't expecting them; why should we? We didn't have anything anyone would want.”
He could still prevent the ma.s.sacre. He could warn Travers about the Gorn, persuade him to fire on the alien vessel. Of course, the commodore probably wouldn't listen to him.
And in any case, the question was moot. The captain had made his decision, which was really no decision at all.
History had to take its course.
”d.a.m.n you, Hill!” Travers yelled. The commodore shot Picard a hot, angry look-one that he could read all the way across the valley. He wanted to catch the mysterious Mister Hill so badly he could taste it. But he had a more pressing matter at hand.
As the captain watched, amazed, almost giddy at his good fortune, the commodore's security team went back the way it came. Looking back over his shoulder, Picard saw that Schmitter was doing the same, returning to the cleft through which he'd come.
Travers could have given his sensor officer instructions from here. He could have returned to the colony himself, and left Schmitter to continue the chase. But, practicing caution, he didn't do either of those things.
It wouldn't help the commodore preserve his colony. However, it had given the captain a second chance to preserve the timeline.
Ensign Ro Laren had thought to find her commanding officer in the center seat on the bridge. However, when she burst out of the aft turbolift, she saw that the captain's chair was empty.
Turning to Worf, she asked: ”Where is he? Where's Commander Riker?”
The Klingon's brows came together slightly: no doubt he was a little taken aback by her demeanor. Acting executive officer or not, he wasn't used to Ro addressing him that way.
As a result, his only answer was a tilting of his ma.s.sive, bony-browed head-in the direction of the captain's ready room. But that was all the ensign needed to know.
Rus.h.i.+ng past the circuitry access boards and the food dispenser, she stopped in front of the ready room door. Inside, Riker would be alerted to her presence by a series of chimes. A second or two went by, as she waited for the doors to slide apart.
Finally, they did just that-revealing the first officer, who peered at her from behind the captain's desk with eyes as tired and red-rimmed as her own. Obviously, he hadn't slept much during his rest period either.
”Ensign,” said Riker. ”I'd planned to speak with you after I-”
”They found him,” she blurted out, physically unable to contain herself.
The first officer blinked. ”I beg your pardon?” he replied. Obviously, she had thrown him for a loop.
”The captain,” she got out, forcing herself to speak slowly and calmly. ”The Bon Amar found him-or at least, the terillium he was carrying in his communicator when he vanished.” She clenched her fists, flushed with their success. ”We know where he is.”
Riker stood, his eyes narrowing as the significance of her words sank in. Had it really happened? When Geordi had first suggested how they could track down the captain, Riker had hailed the idea as brilliant. But after day after day of failure, he'd begun to wonder if it all wasn't just a wild-goose chase. Now ...
”You're certain? he asked.
Ro nodded. ”I can give you the coordinates.”
Slowly, a smile spread over the first officer's features. Not his customary, devil-may-care grin, but an expression of sublime joy that the ensign had never expected to see there.
”Well, then,” said Riker, his voice growing stronger with each uttered word, ”let's give Commander La Forge the good news. You didn't, by any chance, catch the name of the planet?”
Ro nodded again. ”It's called Cestus Three.”
Riker's eyes widened. His eyes became large and round. ”Cestus Three ...” he muttered.
”You've been there?” asked the ensign.
Riker swallowed. ”Only in a manner of speaking,” he replied cryptically. Tapping his comm badge, as if he were off-s.h.i.+p, he said: ”Mr. Worf, get me Commander La Forge. Ensign Rager, plot a new course. We're going to return to the alien station.”
”Aye, Commander,” came Rager's response. ”Course plotted.”
”Engage,” commanded the first officer.
There was something about the way he said it that reminded Ro of Captain Picard. If the prophets were with them, maybe she'd hear that order from the lips of the captain himself before long.
”Cestus Three?” repeated Geordi. ”The Cestus Three?”
”That's right,” confirmed Riker, his voice charged with an excitement that the engineer could feel right through his comm badge. ”The world in the Academy simulation. The one where we first ran into the Gorn.”
Data was already seated at the monitor, feeding the information into the console below it. As soon as he was finished, the local computer nexus went to work calculating the distance to the world in question.
It only took a moment to obtain a readout on the bottom of the screen. Armed with this figure as well as the power curve recorded during the captain's transport, Data was able to distill out of the equation a temporal element-in other words, how far Picard had traveled into the past.
When the android was done, he just sat there for a second or so, his brow wrinkled ever so slightly. Then he looked up at Geordi.
”What is it?” the engineer asked, disturbed by his friend's expression. ”How far back did this thing send him?”
”One hundred and three years, one month, and six days into the past,” answered Data. But he didn't elaborate any further.
Geordi frowned at the android. ”Is there something significant about that date?” Sometimes, dealing with Data was like pulling teeth.
”There is indeed,” came the reply. ”It is only a few days before the Gorn invasion of that world, which killed every colonist but one.”
”Lord,” breathed Riker. La Forge had almost forgotten that the first officer was still listening in. ”If the captain was really there when the Gorn arrive ...”
He didn't have to finish the sentence. They all had a pretty good idea of how it would end-with the death of Jean-Luc Picard. Or maybe, worse, his mangling of the timeline, as hard as he would no doubt fight to prevent it.
And talk about your ironies. To be transported back in time to the incident that opened the way for relations between the Gorn and the Federation-while en route to a meeting that would attempt to preserve those relations. If the situation were not so desperate, Geordi would have managed a smile.
Just then, Barclay and O'Connor entered the room. They'd been working on hooking up the rea.s.sembly controls, which required some work out in the corridor. No sooner had they walked in than they realized something was wrong.
”Good news and bad news,” Geordi told them, saving them the trouble of asking. ”The good news is we've located the captain. The bad news is where we found him.”
Barclay nodded, his brow rippling as he considered the information. O'Connor, who was a good deal less intense than her colleague, just nodded.
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