All Good Things__ - Michael Jan Friedman [8]
Her saucer section alone could accommodate more than a thousand people, he had learned. And her nacelles positioned underneath the ship, where the Stargazer’s had been placed abovetwere not only ele-gant, but highly efficient. Even in the midst of all the other half-ready vessels in the yard, she seemed to stand outtto shine.
“She’s beautiful,” he commented, without intending to. And then, because the word didn’t seem to praise her enough: “Absolutely breathtaking.” The lieutenant nodded. “She certainly is …. ” “… Captain?”
Picard blinked. He was in Deanna’s quarters again, holding out his ceramic cup full of cold tea. The counselor herself was staring at him, her dark eyes fixed on histas if he’d just said or done something entirely inappropriate. And there was a feeling in his stomach the likes of which he’d never felt before.
“Tasha,” he muttered, his eyes going in and out of focus. “I beg your pardon?” responded Deanna.
“Tasha,” he repeated dully, his own voice sounding strange in his ears. “I was just with Tasha, in the shuttle …. “
Suddenly, it was all too much for him. His accumulated feelings of disorientation swept over him like a tidal wave, threatening to crush him. Somewhere off in the distance, he heard the sound of his cup shattering on the table.
In what seemed like a long, dizzying fall, Picard slumped back into his chair. His skull was ringing furiously, like a thousand chiming clocks. He put his hands to his ears in an attempt to shut them out, but he couldn’t. They were too loud, too insistent.
“Captain?” came a cry, taut with concern. And again, tighter still: “Captain?”
“I…” he began. “I… can’t…”
There was a dull sound—like a hand hitting something hard, something metallic. His stomach lurched.
“Troi to Dr. Crusher.” The words seemed at once very close and very far away. “Something’s wrong with the captain. We’re on our way to sickbay.” And then he blacked out altogether.
28
CHAPTER 4
Dr. Beverly Crusher had seen her friend, the captain, in many a narrow strait. However, she had never seen him look quite so meek or helpless as he did now.
Sitting in his robe on the biobed in front of her, Jean-Luc was just staring into space, and had been for nearly a minute. He seemed oblivious of the doctors and nurses going about their business elsewhere in sickbaY.’
It made her feel helpless, too—because even after the battery of brainactivity tests she’d put him through, she still couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. Sighing, she completed one last scan with her tricorder and considered the results.
Troi, who was standing at the foot of the bed, looked at the doctor hopefully. Unfortunately, Crusher would have to dash that hope.
“I don’t see anything that might cause hallucinations or a psychogenic reaction,” she said. The captain turned to her. “Nothing?”
“Nothing,” echoed the doctor.
“Is there any indication of temporal displacement?” queried Troi. “Anything that might shed some light on the problem?”
Crusher shook her head. “Not that I can see. Usually, a temporal shift would leave some kind of trypamine residue in the cerebral cortex. But the scans didn’t find any.”
Gently, she put her hand on Jean-Luc’s shoulder. He half-smiled at the gesture, but his mind was clearly on his troubles.
“Frankly,” she said, trying to lighten things up a bit, “I think you just enjoy waking everyone up in the middle of the night.”
The captain looked at her. He seemed grateful for her effort to ease the considerable tension.
“Actually,” he replied, picking up on her gibe, “I enjoy running around the ship in my bare feet. I find it…” He pretended to search for the right word. “Invigorating,” he decided at last.
Now it was the doctor’s turn to smile. “No doubt you do.” “Dr. Crusher?”
The chief medical officer turned. Alissa Ogawa, one of her nurses, was headed this way with a padd. Ogawa was six months pregnant and