Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 4 Jan 2004 18:21:45 -0800  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: keeroth@startrek.net (Ke Roth) 
 

Title: Echoes
Author: Ke Roth (keeroth@startrek.net)
Series: TNG
Part: 148/?
Rating: R (violence and language)
Codes: P/C, D/f
Summary: Lt. Andile, Starfleet's oldest and shortest engineer, comes
make any money from writing this.
FYI: This story takes place approximately 2 years post "Insurrection",
but pre-"Nemesis".
Feedback is welcome. 


Chapter 148
            
      A hand solicitously guided Deanna into her seat at the table in the
empty conference room - then equally solicitously helped push in the
chair as she sat.

      "Thank you, Will," she said, smiling up at him, love radiating from
her eyes - but disapproval coloring her expression, "but I _am_ fine.
Beverly's released me from care, and I am back on full duty..."

      "I know - and I'm sorry if I'm embarrassing you," he said - but there
was no trace of repentance in his look or his voice. "It's just... I
almost lost you, Imzadi," he reminded her, his voice dropping, growing
soft and warm, his hand rising to caress her face. "I'm resolved to
cherish every minute I have with you."

      "That's going to be a lot of cherishing, Will," she replied, teasing
him in reply. "You're going to have the rest of your life with me,
Imzadi," she replied.

      He bent forward as if to kiss her, but spoke instead. "So when do you
we tell them?" he asked, his lips brushing against hers.

      Deanna stared into his eyes, seeing the burning need in them, not
only to be with her - but to share their joy with their friends as
well.

      She understood - understood and agreed - but understood equally well
that this was not the right time. Too much was still unresolved,
unknown, unsettled: the Breen were still only a few thousand
kilometers away, still and silent even after three days; the fate of
the Federation was still hanging in the hands of the delegates;
Andile's fate was equally undetermined - and the crew, she knew, was
feeling every ounce of that uncertainty.

      And it didn't help that the captain's emotions were equally
disturbed, she added, sensing the approach of the usually tranquil man
- though from him, it not a sense of fear or worry that pervaded his
emotional being - but one of grief.

      Of hollowness.

      Of loss.

      A terrible loss, she knew, having sensed the growing emptiness in the
man during the last few days, despite her enforced separation from the
bridge and the man himself.

      A loss she had sensed with equal clarity in Beverly.

      They had fought - about what, she didn't know - but fights between
the two strong-willed and dynamic officers on the ship were a regular
event, she had told herself. They fought, not vehemently but
passionately, each adamantly arguing their position, believing utterly
in the correctness of their position, unwilling to back down until
they were proven wrong - and yet each holding back slightly, unwilling
to take the argument too far, not ready to say those words that would
take the argument - and their life together - to that ultimate point
from which there was no return.

      But this time... This time there had been no holding back, she
realized. One of them - or both of them - had crossed that line - and
everything that never was, but that they both held to in their
fantasies, in their dreams, in their solitary nights alone in their
quarters - everything that never was - now would never be.

      And there was nothing she - or anyone else - could do about it.

      There was nothing they wanted done, she knew equally well; in their
previous fights, they had managed to let their anger be known, to
surreptitiously bring their friends into the fray, not as allies to
their points of view, but as arbitrators, seeking out the cause of
their disagreement, seeking - and always finding - a peaceful solution
for both of them.

      But this time... This time there had been no outward manifestation of
their rage, no covert or blatant search for a neutral negotiator; this
time, there had not even been anger, as each seemed to realize - and
accept - that there was no going back.

      There was no anger, no tacit cry for help, as though they both knew
the end of their friendship had finally come, never to  be reconciled;
this time, they only grieved, mourning the loss of a friendship - and
the ending of an affair they had never begun.

      To announce an engagement now would be to throw that dissolution in
their faces, Deanna thought, to remind them of what they never had -
and, she added, to remind Data of what he had lost, and continued to
lose every day.

      He was grieving as well, Deanna thought - though his mourning was far
more painful, for it lingered painfully, without hope or an end in
sight.

      In a way, Deanna thought, it might have been better if Andile had
died on the Breen ship - not that she wanted the engineer dead, she
hastily added - but it would have been easier on Data, she knew;
perhaps, she added quietly, it would have been easier on them all.

      That was a major part of the ship's disquiet, she knew; her injury
had stunned the crew, taking away their collective breath, the
lingering uncertainty of her fate still looming heavily over them all.

      The effect of Andile's injury, and the subsequent effect it had had
on the crew had startled Deanna at first, for as amiable as this
ship's crew was, they were also tightly knit - and Andile was, after
all, one of the newest of the new. Add to that her strange aloofness,
her reluctance to enter into friendships or even casual
acquaintanceships - and yet, even with the self-imposed distancing of
herself from the others around her, she had made her mark among them,
as friend, crewmate, counselor, advisor, supervisor, lover...

      Deanna shook her head. In the end, she thought, it always came back
to that, she thought, glancing up at Will once more, squeezing his
hand - then releasing it. "He's coming," she advised.

      He pulled back, still smiling at her, the question still shining in
his eyes - then turned toward the conference room doors as they
opened.

      Jean-Luc Picard entered the room, his head hanging slightly, as he
studied the padd in his hand - but there was an air of defeat about
him that transcended even his wearied stance, a shadow of time and age
that Will couldn't remember seeing before.

      "Long night, sir?" he asked, silently advising the man about his
appearance.

      Picard glanced up, studying Will - but aside from a slight
straightening of his shoulders, made not effort to change his
demeanor. "Indeed," he answered, surprising his first officer.

      "Oh?" Will asked.

      Picard raised the padd. "We'll discuss it when everyone gets here."
He glanced around the room, a questioning look on his face.

      "Geordi and Data are on the way," Will informed them. "They had to
stop at Sickbay to check on the status of the renovation with Dr.
Crusher," he explained.

      "Then Dr. Crusher will not be joining us?" Picard asked - though it
was less a question than a statement.

      Will glanced at Deanna, then back at Picard. "No, sir. Lt. Andile was
taken back into surgery last night; Dr. Crusher didn't want to leave
Sickbay until the lieutenant's condition stabilizes. She offered to
send Dr. Matthews..."

      Picard looked at his first officer, brows raised in question, as if
daring the man to tell him he had accepted the offer.

      "...but I told her that I thought that would be unnecessary. I can,
of course, tell him to report - if you would prefer," Will continued.

      He wouldn't take him up on the offer, Will knew; Greg Matthews had
stood in for Beverly during the first morning meeting after the
captain's return - but his brittle and self-centered attitude had not
meshed well with the senior staff. He might be a capable and talented
physician and surgeon - but he had no place on the senior staff, Will
thought.

      Alyssa had done a better job at the second meeting, taking Beverly's
place when she had begged off the second day - but Alyssa wasn't
Beverly, Will thought. The vibrancy and strong will that marked the
CMO's place on the senior staff was absent in the soft-spoken woman;
she was a fine physician - but she wasn't Beverly.

      But even Beverly wasn't Beverly these days, Will thought - just as
the captain wasn't the captain, he added.

      Idiots, he grumbled silently at them both. Fools! Love's too precious
to waste - but you both give up before you even try to find it!

      "Will," Deanna said softly, laying her hand on his arm.

      He glanced down, then nodded, forcing back his anger - and his
disappointment.

      _It's just such a waste,_ he thought to her.

      _I know. But they are who they are, Will; they had to find their own
way - or not,_ she added sadly.

      "She indicated she would forward her daily report to you as soon as
possible," he added.

      Picard nodded, as though that minimal contact would be sufficient -
and Will looked at Deanna, his unhappiness palpable.

      And immediately hidden as the conference room doors opened again,
admitting Geordi, Worf and Data, the first smiling brightly.

      "I can assume from your expression, Mr. LaForge," Picard said, "that
the renovation in Sickbay is going well?"

      "Yes, sir," Geordi answered proudly. "We've just about finished
converting part of Dr. Crusher's research lab into a private area for
long-term patients. If everything continues as it seems to be going
now, she'll be able to move Biji in there a little later this
afternoon."

      "That's a full day ahead of schedule, Commander," Picard said,
surprised.

      "I know, Captain - but I assure you, it hasn't been at the sacrifice
of any of our other repairs. Some of the engineering staff - in fact,
some of the staff from every department - have offered to give up one
or two of their off-time hours to help out - and it cascaded. Everyone
wanted to help out," he concluded.

      "That's not uncommon, Captain," Deanna interjected. "Right now,
everything about our situation is precarious; the crew feels the need
to do something - anything - in order to feel they are participating
in bringing closure to at least one aspect of their uncertainty. In
this case, helping create a private room for Biji - and for any future
patients who require extended treatment, of course," she added
hastily.

      "Of course," Picard murmured, then raised the padd he had brought
into the room. "Apparently, the crew is not alone in their desire to
bring  and end to the ambiguity of our present - and future -
circumstances; Ambassadors Tiron and Zumell have petitioned me to
initiate discussions regarding the treaty between our worlds.  They
want to go ahead with the conference, here - and now."

      "What? Without a Federation representative?" Will asked, taken aback.

      "Not precisely," Picard said, a touch of trepidation edging his
voice. "They agree that they would be willing to accept a substitute
representative for the Federation. Namely, me," he added.

      "But... would not your participation require approval by the
Federation Council?" Worf asked.

      "Commander," Data interrupted, "there is no Council; they were
disbanded immediately prior to the commencement of our mission - and
with their release, the terms of the Federation Constitution are in
abeyance." He hesitated for a moment, considering the implications of
what that abeyance meant. "However, as the Captain - functioning as a
Starfleet officer -  has performed in the same capacity for the
Federation in previous negotiations, there would be little or no
validity in any arguments that he, one, does not act on behalf of the
Federation, two, that he was unqualified, or three, that Starfleet
does not have the authorization to serve as the Federation's agent.

      "It does not assure acceptance of the agreed upon treaty - should
such a document come from the discussions - but neither would an
agreement derived from the original delegates," Data continued.
"However, the agreement would carry the full weight of any other
negotiated agreements," the android concluded.

      "It's sounds like a good idea," Geordi said, "but - begging you
pardon, Captain - with our warp engines back on line, we could simply
return to Earth and start over with a new negotiator. At maximum warp,
we could be back in just over a week."

      "A week that the Federation might not have, Geordi," Picard
countered. "In the light of everything that has transpired on this
ship in the last few weeks, I suspect we have all lost sight of our
original mission - to get the delegates to the conference and return
with a negotiated treaty. Without that agreement, not only would the
Federation lose its remaining creditability with the smaller
delegations, but both the Cardassians and the Romulans might renege on
their decision to move ahead with the talks - and we would all lose a
chance at a peace that we all so desperately need. No, I happen to
agree with the ambassadors; when we return, it must be with a treaty
in hand - or this - all this," he added, gesturing at the empty chairs
around the table, "will have been for nothing.

      "We have lost good people on the mission, gentlemen; I will not have
those lives be lost in vain," he intoned reverently.

      "And," Picard continued, "I am not willing to walk away from our
first chance to negotiate with the Breen."

      "If they're willing to talk," Geordi said.

      "If they're even alive," Will added.

      Picard looked at him, silently asking for the report.

      "There's been virtually no change in the power output from the Breen
vessel," the first officer advised. "they seem to be sitting there,
doing nothing. For all we know, sir, they're dead."

      "Or playing dead," Worf growled.

      "To what end, Mr. Worf?" Picard asked. "Knowing their abilities as we
do, we're not about to allow ourselves to be lured into range of their
cryoformic tendrils again. And..." He hesitated, seeking out the touch
of Jemat's mind in his once again.

      Startled, Deanna looked up at him, only to see him shaking his head.

      "I doubt the Breen are dead," he said at last. "Their technology may
be different from ours, inferior in some areas, superior in others -
but I can not accept that they would have undertaken a mission of such
import without a crew that could handle what must be a fairly common
complication in a ship that relies on cryoformic tendrils for power
adsorption."

      "I must agree," Data said. "I found their technology different from
what we anticipated - but there was no trace of incompetence in the
crew we observed."

      "Has anyone spoken with the two that were captured?" Deanna asked.

      Worf shook his head. "We attempted to interrogate them - but our
Universal Translators have not been programmed with the Breen dialect
they speak - and they do not understand our language," he said. "They
appear, however, to be in good health; they are eating well, and the
medical team's evaluation shows no prolonged injury from the phaser
stuns."

      Picard sighed. "I had agreed to return the Breen to their vessel in
return for our release - but if there is any chance that we could be
sending them to their deaths, I am reluctant to let them leave."

      "On the other hand, Captain, perhaps the Breen silence is due to that
very fact," Deanna offered. "Maybe they don't want to talk with us
until you fulfill your end of the agreement."

      "No," the captain replied, his face contracting in a grimace as he
shook his head. "They knew that there might be difficulty in arranging
the transfer, and they were prepared to wait until arrangements for
the transport could be made. More importantly," he went on
thoughtfully, "I believe they felt the initiation of discussions
between our people was important to their mission; I don't believe
they would hold back - unless there was a good reason."

      "Then perhaps it is a technical issue, as we suspect," Geordi said.
"After all, we came into this mission ready for every eventuality -
but even so, Ambassador Tillerman managed to throw us for a loop. It's
possible that even if they were ready to address system problems on
their ship, the feedback  may have caused more damage than they could
readily handle. They may be scrambling to find answers, just as we
were."

      "They, however, do not have a Lt. Andile," Worf said.

      The others at the table turned to face him, the astonishment on their
faces unmistakable. "Worf," Geordi said with a smile, "that's the
first nice thing I've heard you say about Biji."
      
      "She is an excellent engineer," Worf replied. "Otherwise, Chancellor
Drakum would not have asked her to rebuild the Empire's ships - or to
be his consort," he said.

      "His consort?" Geordi echoed, astounded.

      "She declined of course," Worf boasted proudly. "She is, after all, a
Starfleet officer - and her loyalties are to the Federation - and
Starfleet - above all else."

      "His consort?! Biji? _Our_ Biji?" Geordi repeated, still dumbfounded
at the very possibility - then looked at his companion. "Data, did you
know about this? What happened? When...?"

      "It was one of the lieutenant's earlier experiences in Starfleet,
Commander," Picard interrupted. "I would suggest you refer to the
Federation's historical archives for further detail - when the
computer records are available," he added pointedly.

      Geordi's cheeks tinged with red and he grimaced at the remark. "Yes,
sir. Regarding those repairs... we have completed the
re-initialization of sufficient computer memory cells to allow ready
access to computer records - and to the ship's recorders. Everything
should be working now."

      "Indeed?" the captain said, his voice bereft of any trace of
amusement. "I attempted to make a log entry five minutes ago - and was
informed the system is still malfunctioning."

      "I know, sir," Geordi agreed. "As I said, the system _should_ be
working - but it isn't. Data and I have been attempting to track down
the source of the problem..."

      "However, we have had other priorities, Captain," Data cut in. 

      Picard nodded, unhappy with the response - but agreeing with it.
There were things more important to the survival of this ship, this
mission - and the future of the Federation - than the specifics of who
was on duty when.
Still, the fault irked him, reminding him of the damage done to the
ship - and the fact that his engineer couldn't find the source stabbed
at him as though the fault belonged to him, rather than his vessel.

      "We probably should be thankful that this is one of the few remaining
problems," Will suggested.

      "I do not believe thankfulness - or a lack thereof - lies at the base
of the problem," Data said.

      "One would hope not," Picard replied dryly. "But if it isn't a matter
of proper adoration of the gods of starships, then what is causing the
problem?"

      "Not what, sir - but rather, who," the android replied.

      There was a pregnant pause as the others looked at him, waiting.

      And waiting.

      "Who, then, Data?" Deanna finally exploded, exasperated at the
android's long silence.

      "Ambassador Tillerman," Data replied. "And Lt. Cmdr. James."

      For a moment, silence filled the room - then... 

      "Sabotage? Again?!"

      "Data, we found everything..."

      "But the logs and data recorders were working..."

      Picard raised a hand, silencing the group - then stared intently at
the
android. "Explain, Data," he said quietly.

      "Sir, if you will recall, it was hypothesized that the saboteur had
managed to tap into the ship's internal communications systems in
order to attempt to monitor the status of the repairs - and the search
for the identity of the saboteur," he reminded the gathering.

      "I believe that hypothesis was discounted when no trace of a
monitoring system was found," Picard countered.

      "Yes, sir - but our failure to find the monitoring system does not
disprove its existence. In light of our subsequent knowledge
concerning the Ambassador Tillerman's involvement, it is possible that
a search of the computer system in and surrounding his quarters may
prove the existence of such a system," Data informed them.

      "Except it would have been in place prior to his arrival," Worf
objected. "Security measures prevented anyone, even Cmdr. James, from
having access to any of the ambassadors' quarters."

      "Sandra knew he would be representing the Federation, Worf, long
before we even knew there would be a mission; she could have installed
the system prior to his arrival, prior to any of the increased
security operations," Geordi reminded him.

      "True enough, Geordi - but she couldn't have known which quarters he
would be assigned," Will reminded the engineer.

      "She would not need to, Commander," Data interjected. "If I may
continue?" he said, looking at the captain.

      Picard nodded.

      "I believe the installation of this monitoring system was essential
to the success of Lt. Cmdr. James' plan. It was imperative that she
know what - if anything - that we knew - and whom we suspected. By
obtaining this information, she could support our beliefs by planting
evidence that would implicate others, while deflecting concern from
herself. This is, I believe, how the lieutenant was implicated in a
number of the acts of sabotage - by identifying our suspicions, and
planting implicating evidence that would support those erroneous
beliefs. The saboteur could not have known that at least one of those
acts would have also vindicated the lieutenant, had any us of reasoned
it out at the time," he continued.

      Picard frowned. "Explain."

      "Sir, the presence - and involvement - of the lieutenant at the site
of the internal relay that was destroyed was done so through the use
of her fingerprints on the relay itself. However, the fingerprints
were identified using Federation records - records from her personnel
file, sir. Those records date to the time of her joining Starfleet -
over eighty years ago."

      "And...?" Will prompted.

      "Those are not her fingerprints," Data said.

      Again, a moment of silence filled the room, then Geordi softly said,
"Data, people's fingerprints don't change."

      "I agree, Geordi," the android said. "And those are Andile's
fingerprints - according to the ship's records. But the fingerprints
found on the relay are not hers - or rather, she did not put them
there. She could not have," he added.

      The chief engineer stared at his friend for a moment, confused, then
said, "But..."

      "Data is correct," Picard interrupted quietly. "The lieutenant's
hands were amputated two years ago - and the tissue replaced by
grafts. The fingerprints of record are not the prints she currently
has."

      There was a soft gasp from the others, which he ignored. "Her current
fingerprints do not - did not," he amended softly, painfully, "match
the ones that are in the ship's computer records. Add to that the fact
that the relay's design is less than two years old. Therefore, it is
impossible for the lieutenant to have left those prints on the relay.
They were left by another source," he said.

      "But how?" Will asked.

      "I suggest that Cmdr. James was able to obtain copies of the
lieutenant's fingerprints from the ship's existing records and
imprinted them on biomimetic gel," Data theorized, "then temporarily
grafted them to her own fingers while placing the detonating device in
place, thus implicating the lieutenant in the sabotage of the ship."

      "She couldn't have done it very often," Geordi offered. "Biomimetic
gel is hard to come by - and she couldn't replicate it, and I doubt
she - or Ambassador Tillerman - would have been willing to requisition
it through Starfleet - not and risk exposing themselves and their
plan."

      "It is, however, available through the black market," Worf said, "and
she would not have required enough to alert official suspicions. All
she would have required was enough to cover her own fingertips, and
leave the impression of the lieutenant's presence in the accessway.
Once implicated, the damage would be sufficient to keep attention
focused on the lieutenant - and away from Cmdr. James," he added,
shame-faced.

      "What's done is done, Mr. Worf," Picard counseled his Security chief,
then looked back at Data. "I appreciate your wrapping up that loose
end, Mr. Data - but how does that correct the present problem -
namely, the malfunctioning ship's recorders?"

      "I believe, Captain, that one of two things has happened. First, it
is possible that the monitoring system was deliberately programmed to
fail - that is, to create this very situation - or, more likely, that
the monitor program suffered the same type of terminal damage that
other components of the computer system suffered. And, as with those
other functions, we will not regain the use of the ship's recorders
until those components are removed and the cells reinitialized," he
concluded.

      "The monitors shouldn't be difficult to find, Data," Will objected.
"It would be in Tillerman's quarters..."

      "Except, Commander," Worf interrupted, "no one knew which quarters
would be assigned to which ambassador. Therefore, we must assume such
a system was installed in each ambassador's quarters..."

      "... and possibly in all the guest quarters," Geordi suggested. "And
until we find them all - and purge the entire system, we're going to
keep getting the same problem," he sighed.

      "It will be a tedious project to remove all the components and the
related programs from the computer," Data said. "What Ginger would
have called, 'grunt work'," he added softly.

      Deanna turned to the android, reaching out and gently caressing his
arm. "Data? Are you all right?" she asked gently.

      "No," he replied quietly, then hesitated, as if to say something more
- then stopped himself. "There is a degree of irony in the fact that,
even though she is unconscious, it was Andile who found the answer to
the ship's recorder problem," he said.

      "How's that, Data?" Will asked.

      "Dr. Crusher is concerned because Andile's wound are not healing at
the correct rate. They are not healing at all," he added softly.

      He hesitated a moment, thinking - then raised his voice again. "Dr.
Crusher was concerned that toxins from the necrotic bowel were
blocking the cellular transport mechanisms, and regardless of the
amount of nutrients she was given, the lieutenant could not absorb the
energy necessary to complete the healing function. It occurred to me
that a similar problem could be occurring in the recording system;
that an existing obstruction to the system was, in effect, blocking
the restoration of the normal functionality of the ship's recorder. In
order to restore the system, a complete removal of the obstruction
would be necessary," he explained, his voice cracking slightly as he
finished.

      For a long time, there was an uncomfortable silence at the table, as
the five watched their friend, desperately struggling with emotions he
did not understand - emotions, they each hoped he would never have to
face.

      Finally, Deanna, still gently squeezing his arm, softly said, "How is
she, Data?"

      It took a moment for the question to register - then Data turned to
her. "She is... alive. She survived the surgery last night. Dr.
Crusher is hopefully that the removal of the damaged section of bowel
will reverse the cellular obstruction and she will begin to metabolize
nutrients again. If so, the doctor is hopeful that she will resume her
normal healing rates. If not..." He stopped as his voice broke again -
then pulled his arm free from Deanna's grip and rose to his feet.
"Would you excuse me, Captain?" he managed. "I... I would like to
begin the removal of the monitoring devices."

      "Data, would you prefer to meet with me first?" Deanna started. "It
might help if you were able to talk about what you are feeling," she
said.

      "No!" he barked sharply, then hastily added, "I do not mean to offend
you, Counselor, but I do not wish to talk about my feelings. Indeed, I
do not know what I am feeling - and what I am feeling, I do not wish
to feel!" he snapped angrily. "I just wish to... to return to my work.
Captain?" he said, looking at Picard, desperation in his eyes.

      The expression met one of understanding and commiseration; Picard
studied his friend for a moment - then nodded. "I'll inform the
ambassadors about the situation and have them moved to other quarters
for the interim. Let me know when the removal is complete."

      Data nodded, not willing to risk speaking, then hurried from the
room, his friends staring after him until the door whispered shut
behind him - then slowly they turned to face one another.

      "How is she, Geordi?" Picard asked softly.

      He shook his head. "Not good," he told them. "Dr. Crusher's trying
everything she can think of - but she's running out of ideas. The
surgery last night was a last ditch effort - but I don't think it's
working," he added, remembering the look on Beverly's face that
morning. "Biji's just not healing - and she doesn't know why."

      Not healing, Picard thought; she's not healing. 

      That's not right, he thought - but for the life of him, he couldn't
remember just _why_ it wasn't right.

      He thought a moment longer - then looked up at the others. "Unless
there's nothing else...?" he said.

      There was a soft murmur of denial, then a soft rustle of chairs
sliding back as the others rose from the table.

      Deanna held back a moment, smiling at Will as he sent her a
questioning look - then watched as the others left the room, leaving
her alone with the captain.

      "I'm not in a mood to discuss my feelings either, Counselor," he
informed her as she turned to face him.

      She smiled gently. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked.

      "I'm not in a mood to play the 'turn my statements into questions so
I can interrogate myself' game, either," he replied.

      "It's not a game, Captain - and it's not an interrogation," she
reminded him.

      "It feels that way," he grumbled at her - then let out a long sigh,
reached for her hand and patted it gently. "I appreciate what you're
trying to do, Deanna - but..."

      "But one of your people is dying - and you feel you're responsible
for prolonging that death - and you've damaged a friendship you've
cherished in the process," she said.

      He raised a brow in surprise - then nodded. "I would say that sums it
up nicely," he said. "Not an auspicious end to a career, is it," he
added.

      "I didn't realize this was the end of your career," she countered
softly.

      The comment provoked a second raising of his brows. "Indeed? I would
have thought you could have sensed my need for... what did you call
it? Closure?... I would have thought you could sense my need for
closure on this episode as much as the crew needs it," he replied.

      "To this episode, to this mission, perhaps - but to your career?" she
asked.

      He gave a soft laugh. "It's time, don't you think? I'm tired. Tired
of living for my career, tired of watching the people I care for die,
tired of knowing that this," he gestured at the ship around him, "is
all there is for me."

      Deanna studied him carefully, her eyes reaching deep into his soul.
"It was enough for you... before."

      He looked back at her with equal intensity, knowing she knew what had
happened. "That was then, Counselor; this is now - and there's no
going back to what once was," he said firmly.

      "And even if there was," he added quietly, "I don't think that I
would want to."

      "Captain..." she began plaintively.

      "Counselor... Deanna," he corrected himself. "It's over. Not that it
ever was," he added. "It wasn't. It was just a fantasy; a wish that I
never acted upon. And now it's time to let those fantasies and wishes
fade away, and to move on - for both of us. Now, I do have some
reports to review," he said, looking back at the padd before him,
flipping on the power with touch.

      "Yes, sir," Deanna murmured, watching him as he looked at the words,
only to realize he wasn't reading. "Captain, if I might suggest..."

      He looked up. "I do have work, Counselor," he repeated.

      "Yes, sir. It's just.."

      He raised a questioning brow at her. 

      "You said you needed closure, Captain; perhaps you need it regarding
your time with Andile as well as with everything else," she said. "I
think it's time you make your farewells with her - so you can move on
with that part of your life as well."

      He studied her, suspecting some sort of Rikerian machination - but
there was nothing in her expression but sympathy - and shared loss.

      Still, he felt a strange reluctance to rise from the chair.

      Cowardice, he told himself; Tiron was right.
      
      He looked up at Deanna, fear, loneliness, grief, all welling up in
his soul - and in hers.

      "Would you like me to go with you?" she said at last.

      He thought for a moment - then shook his head. Starship captains had
no business giving in to fear or grief, he told himself - and if I'm
lonely, it's of my own doing.

      "No," he said softly, switching off the padd, pushing his chair back.
"I can do this on my own."

      "I know," she replied. "But part of being on this ship, Captain, part
of being a member of its crew, is learning that you don't _have_ to do
anything alone."

      He looked at her for a long time - then nodded. "Then, yes,
Counselor. I'd appreciate your company."

      He extended a crooked arm to her - and to his surprise, felt a surge
of comfort as she took it.

      "Thank you, Counselor," he said quietly - then amended his words.
"Thank you - Deanna."

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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