All Good Things__ - Michael Jan Friedman [59]
The captain tilted his head to indicate the nurse. “How is she?”
Beverly shruggedú “Physically, she’s fine—at least, for now. But if this temporal reversion continues, I don’t think any of us are going to be fine for much longerú” A pause. “I scanned most of the crewú The temporal energy is beginning to affect everyone, Jean-Luc.”
He didn’t like the direction in which this conversation was headedú “How?” he inquired.
The doctor sighedú “Our cellular structures are changing. instead of dividing, our cells are coming together ú.. reverting to earlier cellular structures. In some cases, this has caused old injuries to be healed… but that’s only the tip of the icebergú Eventually, this could kill us all, as it did Nurse Ogawa’s baby.”
It was a horrible prospect. Picard’s lips pressed together as he contemplated it.
“How widespread is the effect?” he wondered. “Is it localized to this area, or could it affect other areas of space?” Beverly shook her head. “I don’t know.”
The captain couldn’t take any chances. “Send a report to Starbase Twenty-Three,” he said. “They’re the nearest outpost. Have them begin checking their personnel for these effects.”
“Will do,” she assured him. As he watched, she moved across sickbay to put the order into effect.
Picard took another look at Ogawa. Could this be the catastrophe Q had warned him of’?. Was humanity going to devolve into the singte-celled creatures that had been its primeval forebears? He set his teeth. Not if he could help it. Looking up, he said, “Mr. Dataú”
The android’s reply over the intercom system was crisp and immediateú “Aye, sir?”
“Meet me in the observation lounge,” the captain told him. “On my way,” said Data.
A few minutes later, Picard found himself studying a padd in the ship’s observation lounge as Data looked on. It contained an outline of the android’s initial findings regarding the spatial anomaly. Finished, the captain looked up and eyed Data across the polished expanse of the 1ounge’s table. “Fascinating,” he commented. “Indeed,” said the android.
“And how long until we’ve completed the tachyon scan?” Picard inquired.
Data hardly found it necessary to think about it. “Approximately one hour, forty-five minutes, sir.”
The captain nodded. “Good. Once that’s done, I want you to analyze the information and find a way to shut the anomaly down. But I don’t want to do anything that will exacerbate the problem.”
“I could prepare a risk analysis on whatever solution I devise,” the android suggested. “Good idea,” Picard confirmed.
“Thank you, sir,” replied Data. And without any further ado, he made his exit, intent on the task ahead of him.
The captain watched him go, then picked up the padd and walked over to the observation portal. He was just starting to feel that they might have a fighting chance against the anomaly… … when someone cried out in a strident voice, “Seven! A winner?’
Turning, the captain was shocked to see that the observation-lounge table was gone. In its place was an old-fashioned craps table, straight out of some archaic Earth casino—a table covered with green felt and host to several small piles of plastic chips.
A pair of dice sat on the end closest to Picard. One showed a set of three dots, the other a set of four. The total? Seven.
Looking up, he saw that Q was standing at the opposite end of the table, dressed as a twentieth-century croupier. Tossing some chips to the human, the entity used his croupier’s stick to rake in the dice.
“Place your bets,” he called out, “place your bets. New shooter, new shooter comin’ up.”
The captain glared at him. “What do you want this time, Q?”
Q shrugged. “I’m just here as an observer, Jean-Luc. I want to see what kind of bet you’re going to make on this anomaly.”
Picard stiffened. What was this about? “I’m not betting