All Good Things__ - Michael Jan Friedman [20]
That vineyard..ú those gnarled and knobby fingers ú.. existed in the futureú In his future—or some latter stage of it, because he had memories of a different stage as well.
Picard gasped as something else struck him. The haggard figures he’d seen on the shuttledeck… he’d seen them in the vineyard as well. Of a certainty, he had.
Perhaps there had been fewer of them, but they’d been there just the same—pointing and deriding him as they had just a little while ago. And like the officers assembled on the shuttledeck, the Geordi of the future had seen neither hide nor hair of them.
Only the captain could see them. But why? Who or what could be responsible for such a… ?
And then he knew. Or at least, he was able to guess… because now his knowledge extended over the thirty-two years that hadn’t happened yet.
“Of course,” the Bolian droned on, oblivious of Picard’s cogitations, “I remained in the business, as my father wished. But I respect you just as much for striking out on your own. Really, I do. It’s not eveN—”
“Mr. Mot,” the captain interrupted. “I don’t mean to be curt, but there’s a great deal for me to attend to. I would appreciate it if we could continue this conversation at some other time.”
The Bolian looked at him. “Oh. Certainly we can.” He smiled again in that too-gracious way of his. “And the shop… ?” “Special attention,” Picard promised.
Though he would not have thought it possible, Mot’s smile actually broadened. “In that case, I’ll take my leave of you,” he told the captain. “As you’ll no doubt understand, I have a great deal to attend to as wellú”
Picard couldn’t imagine what that might be, but he nodded knowingly—and watched the Bolian back out through the doors with a last, parting wave.
“Thank you,” called the barber, as the doors closed again.
“No,” said the captain, mostly to himself. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER 8
Captain’s personal log: stardate 41153.7. Recorded under security lockout Omega three-two-seven. I am now convinced that I am shifting between three different time periods in my life. I’ve also decided not to inform this crew of my experiences. If it’s true that I’ve traveled to the past, I cannot risk giving them advance knowledge of what’s to come. Picard stared out one of the ports in the Enterprise’s observation lounge as three of his officers filed into the room behind him. Later on, they were to pick up additional personnel at a nearby starbase. But for now, he would make do with Lieutenant Yar, Counselor Troi, and Lieutenant Worf.
Knowing that none of them would sit before he did, the captain took a seat at the head of the polished, synthetic-wood table. A moment later, the others followed suit.
In the future, Picard would come to know these people well. He would come to trust them implicitly. For the time being, however, be eyed them warily, and they looked at him the same way. At this point, they were comfortable neither with him nor with one another. Addressing Yar, he said, “Report, Lieutenant.”
She wasn’t at all taken aback by his curtness. In fact, he thought, she seemed to prefer it.
“We’ve completed a full subspace scan of the ship and surrounding space,” said Yar. “We detected no unusual readings or anomalies.”
The Klingon spoke up. “With all due respect, sir… it would help if we knew what we were looking for.”
The captain nodded. “Your comment is noted, Mr. Worf.” He turned to the Betazoid—or more accurately, half-Betazoid, since her father had been human. “Counselor, do you sense anything unusual aboard the Enteqvrise… say, an alien presence that doesn’t belong here… perhaps operating on a level of intelligence superior to our own?”
Troi applied her empathic powers. A little while later, she shook her bead. “No, sir. I’m only aware of the crew… and the families aboard the ship, of course.”
“I see,” said Picard. Getting up, he took a few steps around the table. He knew that their eyes were on hirn—that they were sizing him up even as they awaited