Perchance To Dream Part 6

"a.s.sume all you want, Picard," Arit said, then turned and disappeared into the trees.

Picard watched her go, then shrugged to himself. "Strange."

Back to fis.h.i.+ng. Or, to be more accurate, back to spear retrieval. He took a measured step out onto the closest rock, making sure it was firmly placed in the stream bed. It seemed solid enough. Two more short strides and he'd be able to reach the spears.

Perhaps Arit was right about his not being especially proficient at all this. Then again, he'd had no right or reason to expect instant success. Who would? Still, he had faith in his coordination and believed he'd get the gist of it soon enough. He stepped onto the next flat stone with his other foot-and slipped on a fine coating of damp moss. He teetered for a short eternity, failed to regain his footing and toppled sideways into the water.

From somewhere on the fringe of the forest, he heard the distinctly annoying sound of laughter.

The hatch to the Glin-Kale's bridge slid halfway open, groaned, creaked and jammed. Jevlin glared at the wall panel housing the mechanism, then whacked it with his walking stick. The door opened the rest of the way.

He entered-then, much like the hesitant hatch, halted in mid-hobble when he saw Valend Egin waiting for him. "Is there some incredibly good reason for you to be on the bridge, Egin?"

"I'll thank you to address me by my rightful t.i.tle, Jevlin."

"Yes, I'm sure you would. So I'll save us both the trouble," the old first officer muttered as he moved to the operations console just left of the empty command chair.

"I have every right to be on the bridge."

"I suppose you do. Just don't get in our way ... Valend." Jevlin turned to the female officer seated at the console. She was hardly more than a child, her mane still short and downy, not the luxuriant fur of a mature Teniran adult. How qualified can she be? How much experience can she have? Are we that desperate that we put children to work on the bridge?

He knew the answer to that: Yes. Vital posts had to be attended, and the critical losses suffered in the Ziakk Five disaster left few choices. Anyone who could do a job did it, regardless of age.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," she said, sitting stiffly in her seat. "I haven't been able to locate Captain Arit down on the planet. Sensors just don't seem to be working right. I-I'll keep trying, sir-that is, if you want me to."

Jevlin gave her an avuncular wink. "That's the spirit, Mahdolin. Can't imagine where else the cap'n might be. Just keep up the good work." He turned toward the command chair, and found Egin blocking his way.

"Jevlin, how long do we look for her?"

"You sound like you're ready to quit."

"The reality is, she may be gone. We may never-"

"She's not gone," Jevlin shot back, his tone more charged than he'd intended. He sensed the half-dozen crewmen working about the bridge glancing his way and d.a.m.ned himself for giving Egin the satisfaction of so much attention. But Egin had this knack for taxing anyone's patience to the breaking point. As long as I can keep from pounding him with this old walking stick ... "What would you have us do?"

"Start colonizing this planet now, before the Federation s.h.i.+p can stop us."

Jevlin just stared, then spoke through gritted teeth. "You ... are ..." He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his stick, then lowered his voice to a ragged whisper. "That ... is not wise ... not until we know what's happened to Arit ... and surely not until we have a pretty good idea it's safe down there."

"I want-"

"Jevlin, I don't care what you want. With Cap'n Arit off the s.h.i.+p, I'm in command. And I'll not risk another precious Teniran life without good cause just because you want to start your make-believe government. Now, I've got work to do, so if you'll excuse me."

With that, Jevlin turned his back on the sputtering Egin and stalked off the bridge, thankful that this time the balky hatch shut behind him.

He made his way down toward the engineering deck, wis.h.i.+ng there were some alternate route-one where he wouldn't have to pa.s.s shabbily clothed families with their meager salvaged belongings, closely huddled in crowded corridors. Huddled for warmth in the underheated lower-level pa.s.sageways. Huddled because s.p.a.ce was at a premium. Huddled because the ones who had come this far needed to feel the touch of those who had survived with them.

Though Jevlin knew it would be easier on him to avoid looking into their faces as he limped by, he couldn't help it. They weren't cargo, and he couldn't bear to treat them that way. Meeting their gazes might somehow make these refugees believe that they mattered. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do for them for now.

Arriving at the engineering compartment, he found that the entry door had been wedged three-quarters open by technicians weary of wondering whether or not it would operate, and Jevlin eased through. He found a rail-thin officer, as old and grizzled as himself, leaning over a workbench with electronic components and diagnostic tools spread haphazardly across its surface. To Jevlin's untutored eye, it looked like some old computerized gadget had blown apart under extreme stress. Then again, sometimes it seemed like their whole s.h.i.+p was only a short step away from suffering a similar fate. "Chief."

The engineer glanced up from his repair work. "It took you long enough to get here."

Jevlin's brows arched. "Don't move as fast as I used to-and neither do you, Naladi."

"And neither does the old Glin-Kale, I'm afraid."

"She's still here ... how bad can it be?"

Naladi prefaced his words with a sigh. "Bad enough."

Jevlin waved at the parts scattered atop the workbench. "This stuff?"

"This? This is my relaxation break, trying to see if I can salvage anything for us to use later. Take a look, Jevlin." The chief engineer swiveled to face his adjacent desk, and reached over to key his computer board as Jevlin leaned over for a closer look. A diagnostic schematic appeared on a screen mottled with dust and streaked by fingertips that had made a halfhearted attempt to wipe it clean. This place was just as disordered and unkempt as the rest of the s.h.i.+p, an observation that Jevlin found distressing. It even smelled stale. Chief Naladi used to be obsessed with having everything spit-s.h.i.+ned and spotless. Nowadays, it was all he could do to keep the Glin-Kale running.

"She may not be running for long," Naladi said, as if reading the first officer's mind. "The reactor chamber fields are getting fuzzy around the edges. If they don't hold-"

"I know, I know. Can you do anything?"

"You know me. We're already doing it. We'll manage."

"I do know you, Naladi," Jevlin said with a grin. "You're always whining about the end being near-and it never is."

"Not yet anyway. Leaving so soon? You've been no fun at all since you divorced the bottle."

"I've got an important appointment. Keep me posted."

The engineer gave him a dismissive wave. "Yeah, sure, sure, limp off and leave me with my problems. What do you care."

"You shouldn't have done all this yourself," Jevlin scolded, waggling his finger at little Keela.

She perched kneeling on a chair at the small oblong table in her family quarters, upon which she'd arranged place-settings for two-tarnished utensils, chipped mugs and the one pristine piece on the table, an elegant ceramic urn with steam rising from its long spout. A platter filled with a dozen small, neatly arranged finger biscuits sat in the center of the table.

"But I always do it myself. Mother doesn't have time. She says if I want to have tea with her every afternoon, I'm the one who has to make it. Now sit down," she said, her tiny hand pointing impatiently at the opposite chair.

Jevlin joined her at the table. "Didn't your mother worry-I mean, doesn't she worry about you burning yourself?"

"Really, Jevlin," Keela said with a roll of her eyes, "only children burn themselves."

"Ahh. Of course. How foolish of me." He reached for the urn.

"No," she squawked.

He yanked his hand back as if he'd been burned. "I was just going to pour it, Keela."

"We have to say our quiet thank-yous and hopes first, silly. Mother taught me that was why tea time was invented."

"And your mother was absolutely right, Keela. So let's close our eyes and look to the stars." He watched as the little girl tipped her head back and her eyelids fluttered shut. He knew she'd be imagining a perfect night sky, just as he'd done when he was a child, just as all Teniran children were taught to do-imagining the deepest black, strewn with the glitter of starlight. Her lips moved just slightly as she silently whispered her own list. Then her eyes opened.

"Did you peek, Jevlin?"

He stiffened in mock indignity. "I would never do that. Might keep your hopes from coming true. I do know that much. I may be old, but I still remember things, Keela."

"Just checking. You can pour the tea now."

"Thank you, your ladys.h.i.+p." He tipped the urn and filled her cup first, then watched as she held it in both her hands and sniffed the sweet-scented steam curling up toward her face. Pouring his own cupful, he handed her a biscuit and took one for himself.

"Thank you, Jevlin."

"You're welcome. And thank you for inviting me. I hope your mother is having her own tea time now, wherever she is."

"Me too," Keela said with a solemn nod. "She gets very grumpy if she doesn't."

Beverly Crusher sat alone in Ten-Forward, tucked in a corner booth facing the big observation windows, as far off the natural path of traffic as possible. She really didn't want company, but she did want a snack. And she also wanted a change of scenery from sickbay and her quarters. So she risked the inevitable-friends and crewmates certain to approach her with well-meaning sympathy and encouragement.

Guinan was the first. Of course, greeting and serving patrons of the stars.h.i.+p's lounge was her job, so her arrival in Beverly's corner was more or less expected. Once she brought over Bev's apple pie la mode and the accompanying cup of herbal tea, perhaps she'd take the nonverbal hint and move off to more chatty clientele. Beverly fervently hoped so.

But Guinan didn't go. Business was slow, and she sat. "How are you doing?"

Crusher managed a wan fraction of a smile. "Fine."

She dug up a forkful of pie and got mostly dry crust. But she felt Guinan's inscrutable gaze on her. Not staring-no, Guinan was a being of impeccable manners and never stared the way humans might. It was just a gentle, never-wavering look that wordlessly invited its subject to loosen up, and speak up. And it usually worked. But this time, Beverly fought it.

"Look," Guinan finally said, "I'm the last one to pry. And I know you and Counselor Troi are like this ..." She raised her hand with two fingers held tightly side-by-side. "... but I'm here if you just feel like talking."

"Thanks, Guinan. But right now, I just feel like eating."

Guinan stood. "Say no more." She backed away, pointing a thumb toward the bar across the room. "I'm right over there."

Cloaked again in her preferred solitude, Dr. Crusher nibbled on her pie. Guinan was right. Deanna would be the first one she'd go to if she wanted to air her fears about Wesley's safety. But Deanna was missing, too-and Beverly was worried about her friend as well as her son.

Then there was Jean-Luc. Her relations.h.i.+p with the captain was considerably more complicated than her friends.h.i.+p with Troi. Troi was like a sister and best buddy all rolled into one, as close to her now as the best friends with whom she'd shared slumber parties and college dorm rooms when she was growing up.

Not that Jean-Luc wasn't also her friend. But there was more. She'd long since absolved Picard of any responsibility for her husband's death. Long since sorted out nasty feelings of ambivalence, which had understandably grown from the circ.u.mstances of Jack's death while under Picard's command. Once she got her a.s.signment to the Enterprise, it would have been impossible for her to not have had mixed feelings about serving with the captain who'd brought her husband's body home.

But that was then. Now, it was a question of how she and Jean-Luc really felt about each other. Here. Today. Perhaps they'd never be certain. Lord knows, they'd tiptoed around it on enough occasions. Perhaps the requirements of their professional responsibilities precluded any relations.h.i.+p other than friends.h.i.+p. Never mind the emotional baggage related to their past-the truth was, she wouldn't hesitate to come to Picard if she needed a supportive word.

But dammit-he was missing too. And maybe she didn't want to talk to anyone about Wesley's being lost out there, on this unknown planet- "Looks good," said a warm masculine voice, interrupting her musings. "The pie, I mean. Mind if I join you?"

Beverly found herself looking up at Will Riker, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. Her expression remained blank for the long moment it took her to s.h.i.+ft her brain back into a conversation mode. "Actually-"

"Yes?"

"Don't take this personally, Will, but I'd rather be by myself."

"Oh." Riker looked crestfallen. "Well. Umm ... I just thought you might want somebody to talk to about-"

"I don't. Really. I'm fine. Thanks."

Nodding as he retreated, but looking thoroughly unconvinced, Riker headed for the bar.

And Dr. Crusher stared out the windows-past the planet, toward the distant stars-and whittled away at her ice cream and pie.

Until she felt another presence behind her. Oh, Lord ... not again ...

"Hi, Geordi," she said, trying to sound mildly appreciative but not too inviting.

"Hi, Doc. Checking out the planet?"

"Actually, no. I was looking at the stars."

Geordi's brow wrinkled above his VISOR as her answer caught him off-guard. "Oh. I figured because of Wes ... Uhh ... y'know, what with the shuttle and all ..." He licked his lips. "Uhh, he's a good kid, Doc ... he'll be okay. He's with Data, and Data always comes back."

"Thanks, Geordi. Really. Thanks. But I just kind of wanted to be by myself." The chief engineer seemed to take the gentle brush-off with great relief and he too headed for the bar.

Beverly smiled to herself as she washed down a bite of pie with a sip of tea. They're all so sweet to care about how I feel ... but I just don't want to talk about it. How can I explain that? And why should I have to explain it? She felt the worries welling up again, the ones she'd hoped she'd swallowed with the ice cream and pie.

And, again, she sensed someone over her shoulder. She turned slightly to see the looming bulk of Lieutenant Worf. She sighed out loud, wondering if all one-thousand people living aboard the Enterprise were going to pay sympathy calls.

Worf sidled around the table so he could face her. "Doctor, I-"

Suddenly, her emotional dam broke and the flood of fears rushed out of her. Though she spoke softly, the words came so fast that she almost didn't know what she was saying. And at the same time, she knew every syllable before it pa.s.sed her lips. They spelled out all the cares and concerns of a lifetime of motherhood, all crystallized by the inescapable reality right now that she might have to deal with the death of her son.

They were right on target, all of her friends-Guinan and Will and Geordi. She did need to talk, to share her mortal dreads with someone. And then, just as abruptly as the torrent of feelings and fears had begun, it stopped. And one shocked thought roamed around inside her head: Why did I dump this on Worf, of all people?!

As she caught her breath, she looked up at him standing stiffly, looking like he wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else-and she suddenly knew why. Like Crusher, and unlike those other good friends, Worf had a son. Little Alexander, Worf's child with Amba.s.sador K'eylahr-a secret K'eylahr had only recently revealed to him, just before her murder by a Klingon traitor.

Worf had probably been the last person Crusher expected to harbor even a shred of parental instinct. But it had come to him as it came to any human parent-mystically, instantly. Love ... And it had led him, without a second thought, to exalt his young son's best interests above his own.

Worf had sent the child to live on Earth, with his own human foster parents. And though the Enterprise's Klingon warrior never spoke of his feelings, Beverly somehow knew from that one selfless act that Worf knew exactly how she felt at this moment.

"I'm sorry, Worf," she said with an embarra.s.sed smile. "I didn't mean to hit you with all that."

Unable to look her quite in the eye, he took a measured breath and spoke like a man afraid to crack the very thin ice on which he stood. "I ... I came to ask you if I could postpone my scheduled physical until next week."

Beverly felt herself blush. "Oh," she said in a tiny, mortified voice. She felt as if she'd been glimpsed naked. But there was no cover-up close at hand. "Yes, uhh ... of course ... that would be fine ... no problem at all."

Then she looked away. And Worf scuttled out of Ten-Forward.

Though he was due back on duty in a little while, and had in fact been headed back to the bridge to begin his s.h.i.+ft early, Worf left the s.h.i.+p's lounge and detoured back to his cabin. He sat at his communications console.

"Computer ... I would like to record a star-mail message ... to be sent to Earth. To Sergey and Helena Rozhenko ... and Alexander. Address on file." Worf took a deep breath and set himself in front of the recorder. "h.e.l.lo, Mother and Father ... and Alexander. How have you been? I had some free time, so I thought I would send you a message. And I have not forgotten ... happy birthday, Father ..."

Chapter Six.