Resistance - J.M. Dillard [10]
T’Lana was speaking again—a short phrase—then she paused for a response. Fighting to ignore the chaos in his head, Picard watched carefully as she formed the words. He could not hear them, but he managed to read them.
Captain Picard. Are you unwell?
He opened his mouth to answer, to reassure, but no sound emerged, as if he were still prisoner in a dream, unable to find his voice.
Captain Picard?
With agonizing effort, he forced out the words. “I’m fine.”
He could not hear himself utter the word “I’m.” But with “fine,” the sense of pressure evaporated as quickly as it had appeared; the whispers in his mind fled. His own voice emerged as startlingly loud. In a disconcerting instant, the world returned to normal. He let go a long breath of pure relief.
T’Lana was gazing at him with calm expectancy.
“Just a headache,” Picard said, annoyed at himself for such a clearly crippled explanation. He could not imagine how he must have appeared to the Vulcan during the episode.
She appeared to accept his excuse but said no more. They rode in silence, while Picard mentally repeated the mantra:
This is not what it appears to be; there is a physical explanation. This is not what it appears to be.
This is not the Borg…
2
BEVERLY CRUSHER WAS WAITING FOR THEM ON the bridge.
She was glad that she had no medical duties too pressing to keep her from welcoming the new counselor. Beyond that, she was glad for another chance to keep an eye on Jean-Luc.
Beverly had not shown it, of course, but she was concerned for his sake. The nightmare had unsettled him more than he had admitted, and earlier that morning, in engineering, he had seemed…off. Not himself. She had known him for decades, and their friendship had grown progressively more intimate over the years, until they had at last confessed their love for each other.
She recognized every nuance of his moods so well that she knew he was still troubled. But this was more than being upset over a dream, or over the memory of what the Borg had done to him long ago.
There was something else wrong, something neither emotional nor physical, nothing she could put her finger on. Something unusual had happened that he had yet to confess. Whatever it was, it so troubled him that he was hiding it from her.
She had done her best to ignore the fact that morning and kept her mind focused on her duties. When the time was right, he would speak to her about it; she knew she could trust him to do so.
In the meantime, she stood beside Worf, who sat in the captain’s chair. The Klingon had never been one for idle conversation, but this morning, he was even more taciturn than usual. Beverly knew that Jean-Luc had already given the good news to Worf about his promotion to permanent first officer…but judging from the Klingon’s dark mood, the encounter had not gone as the captain had planned. She had intended to congratulate Worf when she first arrived on the bridge, but one glance at him made her decide to keep her mouth shut.
So she stood, waiting with arms folded, staring silently along with Worf out at the stars. The rest of the bridge crew had picked up on the Klingon’s mood; the tension hung in the air, blanketing everyone like heavy fog.
Beverly was relieved to hear the turbolift doors open behind her. She turned, ready and smiling, to greet the captain and the new counselor.
But the look on Picard’s face made her smile freeze into place. Anyone who did not know the captain as well as she did would not suspect anything was wrong, but Beverly could see beyond his calculated, false composure. The small muscles between his eyebrows were taut and gathered, and while his expression conveyed warmth and welcome, she saw beneath it: saw the haunted, hunted look in his eyes. Whatever had been bothering him had just struck again, with a vengeance.
She decided at that instant to confront him as soon as possible. If she had to order him to sickbay on