All Good Things__ - Michael Jan Friedman [14]
The older man nodded. “Twice that I know of… though I suppose it could’ve been more often …. “He hated not being able to remember. “I wish I could be more specific,” he said, “but this damned condition of mine… I just can’t seem to think straight sometimes.”
At that point, Jessel entered to reclaim the tea service. By then, whatever they hadn’t finished had gone coldin as a number of cats could bear witness, having peeked inside the cups themselves. While the housekeeper gathered up the cups and saucers, the android renewed his questioning.
“Captain,” he began, “when was the last time you saw a physician about your Irumodic syndrome?”
Picard felt his spine stiffen. “A week ago. I was prescribed peridaxon. And yes, I’m fully aware that it’s not a cure. Nothing can stop the deterioration of my… my synaptic pathways. I know that.”
Again, Data and La Forge exchanged looks. This time, it rankled the older man, and he couldn’t contain it.
“You think I’m senile,” he told them. “That this is all some… delusion or something. Admit it.” “No one said anything like that,” replied La Forge. But Data gave him the unvarnished truth. “In all honesty, Captain, it’s a thought that has occurred to me. However, there is nothing to disprove what you are saying, either. So I suppose it’s possible that something is happening to you.”
Picard felt hopeful as he watched the android pace across the room, sending a number of sleeping cats scurrying for cover. It seemed Data had become a lot more… human since they saw each other last. Or at least, he’d picked up some human habits.
“The first thing we should do,” said their host, “is give you a complete series of neurographic scans. We can use the equipment at the biometrics lab here on campus.” Turning to the housekeeper, who was shooing a SiameSe cat off the couch, he said, “Jessel, ask Professor Rippert to take over my lecture for tomorrow… and possibly for the rest of the week.”
The older man grinned. “That’s my Data!” he exclaimed. “I knew I could count on you!” He jumped up from his chair and— —felt his feet strike the unyielding metal of the shuttledeck.
Looking around, Picard had that feeling again… the one that he had been somewhere else until this very second. He was tempted to reach back, to steady himself against the Galileo. But in the next moment, the feeling passed.
A moment later, he saw that there were a couple of dozen officers lined up for his inspection. They were standing at ease in three distinct ranks.
One was a Klingon—Worf, wasn’t it? He recalled the gist of the man’s personal history. Nor was it a difficult task, considering how unusual it was for a Klingon to be raised on Earth.
Stepping out from behind Picard, Lieutenant Yar called out in a loud voice, “The commanding officer of the Enterprise/”
The words echoed from bulkhead to bulkhead. It was a proud moment for him. And it wasn’t over. Right on cue, an ensign brought an old-fashioned bosun’s whistle to his lips and blew on it. At the high, shrill sound, everyone in the bay snapped to crisp attention.
Shrugging off the last shreds of his disorientation, Picard moved to a nearby podium, placed his padd on it, and surveyed the crowd. There were other faces here that he recognized from their Starfleet files—but there would be time to study them at length later on. Right now, everyone was waiting for him to officially announce his assumption of command.
Moving forward with the ceremony, he read from the padd. “To Captain Jean-Luc Picard, stardate four-one-one-four-eight…”
Something made him look up. To his astonish-ment, there was a trio of humans up on the shuttlebay’s catwalk. They were haggard, sunken-cheeked… dressed in rags.
And the captain had the strangest feeling that he had seen them somewhere before—though he couldn’t remember where.
As Picard stared at them, and they stared back, One of the figures pointed to him. Then all three began to laugh. The captain blinked, unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes. And then they were gone.
Jarred, he just stood there for a moment, trying