All Good Things__ - Michael Jan Friedman [41]
There were astonished looks all around. “What makes you say that?” asked the first officer.
“Q has always shown a certain… fascination with humanity,” the captain explained. “And more specifically, with me. I think he has more than a casual interest in what happens to me.”
“That is true,” agreed Data. “Q’s interest in you is very similar to that of a master in a beloved pet. In a way, he may relate to you the way I relate to Spot.”
Picard was less than thrilled with that comparison. He communicated that with a look.
The android tilted his head slightly. “It was only an analogy, Captain.”
“Yes,” remarked Picard. “And unfortunately, it’s rather close to the truth. Let’s assume for the moment that Q does regard me as a sort of… prized possession. He may not want to see that possession destroyed. And yet, he may be prohibited from acting directly to prevent it.” “You mean by the other Q?” asked Geordi.
“Yes. Or perhaps even by his own code of behavior,” the captain suggestedú “That is, if he has one we’re not aware of.”
“Maybe,” said Riker, “he gave you this ability to shift through time so you could see a problem developing… at three different points.”
The captain pondered that possibilityú “A problem that can only be solved by marshaling the resources of three different time periods…”
His cogitation was cut short by a message over the intercom. “Ensign Calan to Captain Picard.”
Picard looked up. “Go ahead, Ensign.”
“We’re approaching the Neutral Zone, sir.”
The captain saw his officers exchange glances.
“On our way,” he replied.
As they filed out onto the bridge, each of them moved to his or her customary place. Sitting down in his seat, Picard considered the starfield he saw on the viewscreen.
“All stop,” he commandedú “Long-range scan.”
It took a moment for his people to make the adjustment to the sensor arrayú And another for the results to come in.
“There are four Romulan Warbirds on the other side of the Neutral Zone,” Data informed him from his position at ops. “They are holding position, sir. And on our side of the border, the Federation starships Concord and Bozeman are holding position as well.”
“A standoff,” remarked Riker. “The question is, who’s going to move first?”
“We are,” responded the captain. “Mr. Worf, hail the Romulan flagship. We have nothing to gain by maintain-ing an uneasy silence.”
“Aye, sir,” said the Klingon. And a moment later: “Her commander is responding.” “On screen,” Picard told him… … and the image of an aged Klingon supplanted the star field.
Startled, Picard looked around for an explanation— and realized that he was no longer on the Enterprise. He was on the Pasteur, in what he had conhe to think of as the “future.”
Beverly was seated beside him. He gripped the armrest of her chair as he adjusted to the sudden shift.
It took him another second or two to recognize the K!ingon on the viewscreen as Worf. The former security officer was sitting at a desk in what looked like a small, crowded office. The furniture behind him was stacked high with books and documents.
“Captain Picard,” said the governor, inclining his head as a peculiarly Klingon sign of respect. Beverly noddedú “Hello, Worf. It’s been a long time.” “That it has,” the Klingon agreed. “I have read your request.”
He paused, as if steeling himself for his next statement. That alone suggested to Picard that the news would not be good.
“The first thing you should know,” he continued, “is that I am no longer a member of the High Council.”
It was true. The news was not good. If Worf had fallen from favor, their job would be that much harderú
“After I opposed our withdrawal from the Federation Alliance,” the Klingon explained, “the House of Mogh was forced from power. Exiled—albeit unofficially— from the homeworld.”
“I see,” said Beverly. She was obviously trying to be sympathetic.
But Picard didn’t see. He didn’t see at all. “Worf,” he pleaded, “you must still have some influence. We need your help.”
The Klingon scowled in self-derision. “I am only the governor