“Ah, there are a few knickknacks, I admit. Poor Mister Nog, going to all that trouble to scan me every time I stepped out of a runabout, and never looking at the stash of souvenirs I had left in the runabout. They’re just a bonus, really, though. Not the objective of the exercise.”
“A pretty big bonus.”
“And, to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t care if none of them were on board. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to look that gift horse in his mouth, but . . .” His voice saddened a little, La Forge thought. It was a good act, but he wasn’t going to be fooled by it.
“Okay, it’s a bonus. So, for a bonus you’ll be ‘inventing’ our gear, and trying to force us to help you?”
“Yes and no, respectively.” Rasmussen spread his hands magnanimously. “If you want to disappear off to some remote Alaskan isle and never be noticed by history, I won’t stop you.” Geordi didn’t believe a word of it.
“Commander La Forge . . . I just want to go home. I want to go and eat at the Hidden Panda’s buffet, and drink bourbon served by Jo—Well, you don’t know her anyway.” He turned away with a shake of the head and a wave of the hand. “I want to smell and taste the air I grew up with. Walk down the streets and the riverside that always used to inspire me. Don’t you understand?”
“I think I do, but . . . Sometimes you just have to accept that your past is . . . past. Once you’ve left your home, it can never really be home again.”
“I didn’t really leave New Jersey by choice.”
“Stealing a time ship sounds like a choice to me.”
“I only ever intended to briefly visit a few places, and return home. I no more intended to leave Earth than I intend to leave home forever when I go grocery shopping. But the time pod had its own ideas . . .” His habitual and annoying supercilious smile had gone, and La Forge thought this time that Rasmussen was telling the truth.
“Commander . . . I know you think I’m just a thief and a conman, and you’re not totally wrong, but . . . I’ve been living out of my own time for over a decade, and it’s time to go home.”
“Is there anything about the way we live our lives now that you don’t like?”
“Not really, no. Replicators, holodecks, all those things are fabulous, and I’ll probably miss them.”
“Then why, if it’s not for the chance to try to get rich or powerful or famous, do you want to go back and live without those advances?”
Rasmussen turned away for a moment. “Everyone I know is dead, Geordi.” He sighed deeply. “It’s not just that they’re dead because they lived two hundred years ago. I didn’t . . . I don’t even know how to phrase what I’m trying to tell you . . .”
La Forge understood. “We all have people we didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to, Rasmussen.”
“Not all of them are people we can get back.”
Guinan stepped cautiously onto the Challenger’s bridge, receiving some surprised looks in the process. Scotty rose immediately, all Celtic charm as he offered her his seat. “It’s all right, Scotty,” she said, “I just wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Go right ahead.”
“In private.” Scotty wondered what she meant by that, but didn’t mind.
“Let’s go into the ready room.” They stepped through, and Guinan paused to admire the ornaments on the walls. “Raktajino, double cream, twice,” Scotty said to the replicator. “What’s so important that it brings ye to the bridge?”
“I’ve been thinking about Rasmussen, and the Split Infinite.”
Scotty knew nobody had formally informed her of what was happening, but wasn’t surprised that she knew. Typical ship’s scuttlebutt and a member of a species nicknamed Listeners made for an inevitable conclusion. “Ye remember Rasmussen from your days on the Enterprise?”
“I do.”
“But have ye ever heard of the Split Infinite before now?”
“It’s quite famous where I come from. You know what I’d like to know?”
“Ye strike me as the kind o’ lady who doesn’t need to ask many questions in order to know what needs to be known. But, well, what did ye have in mind?”
Guinan half-closed her eyes, the smile of a pleased cat. “If Rasmussen is just trying to go back in time, why come all the way out to the Split Infinite to do it?”
“Those old warp five engines on Intrepid canna take the strain of a slingshot round a star—”
She shook her head sharply, the cat-gaze now more focused. “You know what I’m asking. Why doesn’t he use that big old talking donut? You know the one I mean.”
“I’m sure I don’t, lass.” He hoped he sounded affronted enough.
“You’re a miracle worker, Scotty, but you’re a rotten liar. All right, let me try three little words for you: Guardian. Of. Forever.”
Scotty dropped the pretense of ignorance. “Those are highly classified words, Guinan. How would you happen to have heard of them?”
Guinan gave him a coquettish look. “I’ve traveled a lot. I’ve listened to a lot of people. The question still stands: Why doesn’t Rasmussen try to use it?”
Scotty nodded gently. “Aye . . . As I said, those are highly classified words. It’s not very likely that he would have had access to the kind of information that mentions the Guardian. And even if he did, the location is even more secret.”
“Ferengi have a way of buying secrets, and I remember Bok from my days on the Enterprise as well. I’d be surprised if he hasn’t at least heard of it.”
“The Guardian is also well guarded. Not least by itself. It’s like that.”
“I hoped it would be.”
“Well, what else do you imagine? It wouldna do for the Borg to have got ahold of it, or for, say, the Romulans to start messing around with it.” He gave her what he hoped was a reliable and reassuring smile. “Time travel might be more common than we believe, but it’s nowhere near as easy as some people would like to think.”
“Who’d have thought time travel would be so easy?” Rasmussen reflected in his cabin.
Bok grunted, trying to catch the movement of the walls out of the corner of his eye. He was sure this room was even smaller now than when he had first seen it. He nearly shivered, but suppressed the sign of weakness. The profit he was making here was worth a little discomfort. “The riskier the road, the greater the profit.”
“Is that one of those Rules of Acquisition I keep hearing about?”
“Rule sixty-two.” Let the hew-mon think he was referring to time travel, rather than to being in this upright coffin that barely deserved to be called a room. “We should get rid of the Starfleeters now.”
“There’s no need. Besides, I already told you they’re useful for continuing to keep the ship up to standard.”
“They are also useful at interfering. They will not stand by and let us complete our mission. And even if they did, what about when we arrive in 2162?” He knew Rasmussen wasn’t keeping them alive out of a fondness for them. It was obvious to Bok that the man wanted to cut some private deal with them to “invent” things in 2162.
“What about it?”
“The more people taken back, the greater the risk of violating the conservation of reality.”
Rasmussen shook his head, making a soothing gesture. “No, no, no. They won’t.”
“They will, because interfering is what Starfleeters do.”
“They will not, because Starfleet has not just a Prime Directive, but a Temporal Prime Directive, and a Department of Temporal Investigations. They’re specifically trained and forbidden, if they should somehow happen to end up back in their past, from doing anything that would alter the timeline.”
“So what will they do?”
“Either try to get a ship to jump forward again back to now, or hide themselves away and not make waves. That’s a standing order. Oh, they may or may not be persuaded to help with a little DIY project or two, but once we’ve transited through the Infinite, the worst they’ll do is go away an
d live out quiet lives.”
“Without making profits on their situation?” As far as Bok was concerned, that was all the more reason to remove them from the universal gene pool.
“I know. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“That’s not the word I would use,” Bok said, and left the cabin at last. He was so glad to be out of there and back in the drab and dim corridor that he almost walked straight into La Forge.
Geordi La Forge thought it was only fair to try reasoning with Bok the same way he had tried reasoning with Rasmussen. He didn’t expect it to work, but a divide and conquer strategy might make things a little easier. He hoped so, anyway.
He had come down on a pretense of checking a power junction, accompanied by a Breen guard, and had contrived to remain within a couple of meters of the door to the captain’s cabin so he could hear Bok and Rasmussen.
When Bok emerged, La Forge let him almost stumble into him, and then fell into step beside him. The Breen guard followed a couple of paces behind.
“I just can’t believe you’re willing to help Rasmussen go back home.”
“No? Not even if there’s some profit in it?”
La Forge barked a short laugh. “You can’t pull that one with me, Bok. You may be a Ferengi, but, last I heard you did time for not putting profit ahead of revenge.”
“Perhaps I’ve found a way to gain both.”
“In the past? You mean by changing history?”
“Ah . . . Now there is a dangerous game.”
“That tends not to stop people who are obsessed.”
“Very true.”
“What are you going to do? Blow up Earth just to get rid of Captain Picard’s ancestors?”
Bok laughed. “It’s revenge—and profit—I want, Commander. Not meaningless carnage. I know you think I’m an obsessive, crazy murderer. I also know that you do not know me that well. Not as well as, say, I know Picard.”
“I was there both times when you’ve tried to avenge yourself on him. I think I can say I know you well enough.”
“I have no intention of making huge changes to the past, La Forge, because I’m not stupid. Certainly not stupid enough to risk doing anything that would negate my son’s existence. Likewise I have no intention of violating the law of conservation of reality, and trapping myself in an alternate timeline, leaving my son still dead in this one. I also have a few other matters to attend to in the twenty-second century.” Bok tapped a padd. “I have here a list of investments to make, banks offering high-interest deposits. Two hundred years’ worth of yield should prove most profitable, even by hew-mon standards.”
“Let me guess, that’s the Shadow Treasurers’ side of the deal.”
“They wanted something in return for the hiring of the vessels and mercenaries. A small price to pay.”
“And the thought of trying to take Captain Picard out of history never occurred.”
Bok halted. “Ah, now there’s a precious idea, beyond the dreams of avarice. Make sure there is no Jean-Luc Picard. With no Jean-Luc Picard, there is no Battle of Maxia. With no Battle of Maxia, my son remains alive.”
“With no Jean-Luc Picard there’s no defense against the Borg incursions of the past—”
“With no Jean-Luc Picard, there’s no provoking the Q into introducing an Alpha Quadrant vessel to the Borg,” Bok countered instantly. “That means no Borg invasion. As you can see, removing Picard’s existence would be doing the Federation some much-needed favors also.”
“Is that all that matters to you, Bok? Revenge?”
“No, hew-mon, not revenge. Family.”
“Family.”
“Nothing is more important than blood. Not profit, not latinum, not the Nagus, and not your Federation.” La Forge felt a bizarre mix of sympathy and astonishment. He had never heard a Ferengi put anything ahead of profit, other than Bok’s own drive for revenge. “Have you never lost a member of your family, hew-mon?”
La Forge momentarily imagined he could see his mother’s face one more time, and that there was a hint of her perfume in the air. “Everybody has.”
“True, but I mean, shall we say, before their time. Suddenly and far away, leaving you no chance to prepare for the adjustments that must be made to your life . . . and no chance to say goodbye,” Bok finished quietly.
“Yes,” La Forge admitted cautiously. “I do understand. There’s an old saying, from one of the largest regions on Earth, that the greatest curse the gods can bestow is for a parent to outlive their children.”
“Then there is some wisdom on Earth, and misfortune, to have learned such a lesson so well. Do your people have anything to say about revenge?”
“There’s one about first digging two graves before setting out on revenge.” La Forge hesitated. “You know that getting revenge won’t bring your son back.”
“A lot of people have told me that, over the years, and it took a long time for me to realize that they were right. Revenge will not bring my son back.” He clenched his fists, but then shook his head and unclenched them with a wave. “I realized that I was looking at the matter the wrong way. I should have been looking at how to bring my son back.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.”
“And the ends justify any means?” La Forge shivered. “How much damage would you inflict to get the ends you want?”
“Ends, beginnings . . . I will do whatever it takes.” Bok peered at Geordi, his smile widening. “You’re afraid, La Forge? Terrified, for the future, for the very existence of your precious Federation?” Bok laughed. “Understandable. A man with a grudge and a time machine would be something it would be wise to be afraid of.”
“Is this your way of gloating, Bok?”
“Gloating . . .” Bok shrugged. “Perhaps. It would feel better to be saying such things to Picard, but his lackey will have to do. If it’s reassurances you want, let me reassure you that I’m not planning to do anything that would jeopardize the existence of my son.”
“Apart from creating whole new timelines.”
“No!” La Forge was surprised by the sudden flash of rage in Bok’s eyes. The Ferengi grabbed him by the throat, his nails digging painfully into La Forge’s neck. “No new timelines! I will not tolerate a timeline in which my son does not live, and I will not bear having his life be shuffled aside into some alternate timeline!” La Forge stared into the snarling face of a madman. Bok released him after a moment, pushing him away. “You may be reassured,” the Ferengi continued stiffly, “that I am bearing in mind the law of conservation of reality.”
“Conservation of reality?” It was rare that La Forge heard of a scientific law that was new to him, but this was definitely one. “You mentioned that before.”
“Twenty-sixth-century science, La Forge. Beyond your comprehension.”
“If it’s not beyond yours, it’s not beyond mine.”
Bok sighed, and almost seemed to shrink, though he lost none of his grim intensity. “I am not going to erase Picard from history, though it was amusing to let you think so.” Geordi felt momentarily dizzy, though he wasn’t sure whether it was from Bok’s apparent change of heart, or being half-throttled. “I am going,” Bok continued, “to ensure that my son does not attend the Battle of Maxia.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Let Picard kill some other Ferengi, while my son stays safe on Ferenginar to earn his own profits. That is the change I will make to the timeline. The protection of my son’s life, arranged two hundred years in advance.”
16
The only place on the ship where the guards didn’t have their eyes on the Starfleet officers was in the washroom that had been set up in what was originally Intrepid’s decontamination suite. Blue lighting gave the shower stalls a bizarre and headache-inducing tone that made the place feel cold and impersonal.
It was the perfect place to meet to plan. Reg and Balis were already waiting, Balis’s blue skin was a terrifyingly corpse-like gray by the light, when La Forge walked in and
explained what Bok had told him.
“To be honest,” La Forge admitted, “Bok’s so obsessed with what happened to his son that I’m surprised he’s never tried something like this before.” He fixed Reg and Balis with a look of grim determination. “We have to regain control of Intrepid. Or . . .” He gritted his teeth, wishing he didn’t have to say the words. “Or destroy it.”
“At least we’re not alone.”
“We’re not? We look pretty alone to me, Reg.”
“On this ship, yes, but Challenger will be following, you said so yourself. Scotty is—”
“A miracle worker, I know. And if anyone can follow a cloaked ship, he can. But even if they follow us to the Split Infinite, we’re still going to have to prevent Bok from taking the ship in, and I doubt we have much time. We’ve been here long enough already.”
“Their guards are watching us all the time,” Balis said. “How are we going to get the chance to do anything?”
“We’ll have to make our own chances,” Geordi said.
On the bridge, a Ferengi hurried over to Bok, crouching obsequiously. “Daimon, we’ve located Kren’s ship. It is dead.”
“Kren has finally managed to get his ship destroyed?” The man was always too eager for his own good.
“No. We’re still receiving telemetry from their warp core. The ship still exists, at least.”
“Either way, Challenger will begin pursuing us.”
“If they have any idea where we were heading.”
“They have enough engineering brainpower aboard to have a good chance of tracking us.”
“We should have destroyed them,” Sloe pointed out.
Bok grimaced. “That would have been nice, yes, but a Galaxy-class vessel is infuriatingly powerful. Delaying them gives us a much better margin of success.”
“I hope you’re sure of that.”
“Experience makes me sure,” Bok reminded him. He moved over to the communications console, and opened a channel to the K’t’inga-class ship that was in his employ. “Harga, this is Bok.”
“Harga here, Daimon.”
Star Trek The Next Generation® Page 19
