for him. "I am aware of something, Admiral,
that--if you take it in the proper frame
of mind--might serve to put much of your long-standing
frustration to rest."
"Really?" Riker was more amused than anything
else. "And what precisely do you know,
Data?"
Data paused, and his next ^ws were the last that
Riker could possibly have expected.
"What would you say, Admiral, if I informed
you that ... somewhere ... Deanna Troi is
still alive."
The statement hung there for a moment, untouched.
And then, to Data's surprise, Riker actually
smiled again. "Data, you're turning
philosopher on me."
"I am, sir?"
"You're about to tell me that Deanna lives
on in our hearts and minds and memories, right?"
"No, sir. She lives on in an
alternative time line."
Riker's smile was frozen, but the rest of his
expression was an utter blank. Finally he said,
"Data, what in hell are you talking about?"
Data sat down across from Riker, endeavoring
to select the method of explanation that would be
simplest for Riker to follow.
"Our stop right before Betazed," began Data,
"was at the world of the Guardian of Forever. You're
familiar with it?"
"Of course," said Riker impatiently.
"In the course of my visit there, the
scientists showed me a temporal irregularity
they have discovered. These irregularities are known,
interchangeably, as alternative time lines or
even parallel universes. There have been several
encountered in Federation history. For example, the
alternative universe and/or time line wherein the
Klingons and Federation remained at war, from which
Tasha Yar crossed over and eventually became the
mother of Sela. Then there was the alternative
universe and/or time line which James Kirk and
several of his command crew encountered that was a
"mirror"' representation of our--"
"I know all that! Dammit, Data, what
does any of this have to do with Deanna?"
"It has to do, sir, with how these alternative
universes and/or time lines--"
"Stop saying it that way! It's getting on my
nerves! Pick a term and stick with it!"
Data blinked. Riker was showing more fire and
anger in the past five minutes than he
conceivably had all during the past five years.
"It has to do," Data began again, "with how these
time streams ...?" He paused on the last ^w,
adding a slight interrogative to his intonation
to see whether or not Riker approved of the
terminology. The admiral nodded and gestured for
him to continue. "It has to do with how these time streams
are begun. No one knows how many there are; perhaps
an infinite number. But apparently they key off
of significant moments in time. Focal
points was the term that then-science officer Spock
coined, I believe. James Kirk's Edith
Keeler, who inadvertently lived when she was
supposed to have died, represented one such focal
point. The constant surveying of the events that the
Guardian displays will sometimes reveal one of these
offshoots."
Riker swallowed hard. "And they've ...
they've found one involving Deanna?"
"That's correct, sir. Curiously, it
revolves around the moment of Deanna Troi's
death at the Sindareen peace conference. In the
alternative time stream, Counselor Troi in
fact did not die."
"How did she survive?" Riker's voice
was barely above a whisper.
"They have been unable to make that determination.
What they have discovered, however, is that the
counselor was present at the peace conference ...
and her empathic abilities were able to discern that the
Sindareen were lying about their peaceful intentions.
Once she uncovered their duplicity, it was quickly
learned that the entire peace conference was a scheme
to use Federation resources to rebuild so that they
could, years down the line, launch new and
devastating forays against the Federation."
"Which they wound up doing."
"Yes, sir, in our time stream--the
"correct"' one, for want of a better term.
In our time stream, the Sindareen are a powerful and
formidable people. In the alternative time stream,
however, the Federation refused the peace
initiative, pulled out, and the Sindareen economy
eventually fell apart completely. At that point,
the Federation then stepped in with restoration efforts, but
under far more controlled and less trusting
circumstances. The Sindareen were able to rebuild,
but were a far more docile and chastened race."
"And Deanna lived." Riker looked
to Data, his eyes sparking like flint
struck together. "She lived."
"Yes, sir. So you see, Admiral ... you
can take heart. Although the counselor's death was
an unfortunate and tragic thing, there is a
"cosmic justice"' of sorts ... a sense of
balance. For in an alternative time stream,
Deanna Troi lived and accomplished great
things."
Riker was silent for a long moment ... and then
he seemed to be muttering to himself. Whispering. His
voice was a low and gentle singsong, and it sounded as
if he were trying to reason something out.
"Admiral?"
Riker started to get to his feet and put a hand
out to Data. The android assumed that Riker needed
his help getting up and so lent him support. But
then Riker's hand closed on Data's shoulder
with a fierceness that might have been appropriate to a
man less than half his age, and he whirled
Data around, galvanized by inner fires.
"Turn the ship around," Riker said hoarsely.
"Admiral?"
"You heard me. Bring us back to Betazed.
Fastest possible speed."
"Sir, I'd like to be as accommodating as
possible, but I don't understand why--"
With a red-hot fury, and a voice like iron
pounded on a forge, Riker shouted, "Turn the
goddamn ship around, Data! That's a direct
order from a superior officer. Do it now,
or so help me, I'll have you relieved of
command and I'll steer us back there myself!"
CHAPTER 35
It took a day to get all the clearances from the
Betazed government. But Data did it as quickly
as he could because he was of the firm conviction that if he
didn't get an official release for the body of
Deanna Troi, then Admiral Riker might
very likely go down and bring the body back himself.
In the current state that he was in, he was
probably single-minded enough to haul the corpse
onto his back and find a way to carry it
piggyback to the Enterprise.
Riker had lapsed into silence, but that silence was
hardly benign. He fairly ra
diated
urgency, bordering on controlled desperation. He
stood there and watched as Deanna's body, still in
its encasement, materialized on the
cargo transporter. It floated on small,
controlled waves of antigravity emanating from
floater units that had been attached.
Data, Blair, and Chief Medical
Officer Hauman, along with two medtechs, were
all waiting there for it when it arrived. Hauman,
tall and gangly with thick brown hair, looked
at his commanding officer questioningly. "Sir, am I
understanding this correctly? You want me to run an
autopsy on a four-decade-old body?"
"That is the plan," Data said with as close
to a sigh as he was capable of producing.
Riker put up a hand. "Hold it," he said
as the medtechs came around to move the encasement.
"Hauman ... run a tricorder scan.
Look for life signs."
Hauman stared at Riker, then at Data, and
then back at Riker. "Are you expecting me
to find any, sir?"
Riker looked at him coldly. "I'm
expecting you to follow my order."
Hauman did as he was told, passing the
small unit over Deanna's body. "Nothing.
Not so much as a blip. I'm sorry,
Admiral, but this is a forty-year-old corpse.
Nothing more."
"It's something more than that, Doctor," said
Riker. "It's a hope in hell. Now get her
... get it ... down to sickbay."
"What am I looking for, if I might
ask."
"Cause of death."
"Sir, wouldn't that be in the autopsy performed
at the time of the death?"
"Yes, it would," said Riker, sounding amazingly
reasonable. "So what I want you to do is pull
that autopsy from the records."
"And then?"
"And then," said Riker, "look for something that
isn't there."
While the autopsy was performed, Riker stayed
in his quarters. He had an inkling of what
autopsies used to be like, back in the
primitive days of surgical knives and
catguts. Cutting up the body, studying each
of the organs, searching through and running tests while
a nauseating stench filled the air.
Deanna's body would not be cut or harmed.
A battery of tests would be run without
mussing a hair on her head. Nevertheless, Riker
couldn't find it within himself to stand there while
Deanna's body was treated like a large slab of
meat ... no matter how comparatively
delicate that treatment might be. He'd gone
through it once. Twice would be unendurable.
He stared down at Betazed, which turned under them
in leisurely fashion. Imzadi, he
whispered to someone who had not been able to respond for
nearly two generations. Imzadi ... tell
me I'm not losing my mind.
There was a buzz at his door and he said
urgently, "Come in."
Data entered with Dr. Hauman at his side.
Data's face was, as always, unreadable. But
Riker could immediately tell from Hauman's
expression that something had happened. Something had
occurred that had surprised the good doctor. That
alone was enough to give Riker hope. "Well?" he
demanded, waggling his fingers impatiently. "Tell
me."
"It's, um ..." Hauman looked
uncomfortable. "It's ... extremely
puzzling."
"What is?"
"It would appear, Admiral," Data said,
"that we have something of a paradox on our hands."
"Oh, really. Explain it to me, if you'd be
so kind. No ... better still ... I'll
explain it to you."
Riker rose from his chair and faced Hauman.
"You found," he said slowly, "traces of something
that didn't exist at the time of Deanna's
death."
"That's ... that's correct, sir," said
Hauman. Not only did he feel foolish that
his previously expressed doubts over the point
of this exercise were now without foundation, but he felt
even dumber over the fact that Riker was
apparently one step ahead of him. "We found
minute traces of Raxatocin ... so minute that
the medical equipment of the time would not have been able
to detect it. It wouldn't have even shown up as an
unknown substance."
"Raxatocin," said Riker slowly. "That's a
poison, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. It ... well, it causes
precisely the types of symptoms that killed
Counselor Troi. Massive circulatory
collapse. It was developed thirteen
years ago, and as recently as five years ago
it was still undetectable."
"How is the poison transmitted?"
"Any number of ways. Injection. It can be
ingested. In sufficient concentration, it can even be
inhaled."
"All right." Riker took a deep breath.
"Has Deanna's body been returned to the
proper authorities?"
"Yes, sir," said Data.
"Good. Okay, Mr. Data." Riker
clapped his hands together and then rubbed them briskly.
"Take us to the Guardian of Forever."
There was a dead silence in the room, and then
Data turned to Hauman. "Doctor, I
thank you for your time. That will be all. And make
certain the file on Deanna Troi is
sealed."
Hauman nodded. Riker stared at Data and
said, "What?"
Data raised a finger, indicating that they should not
say anything until Hauman left. Riker
waited impatiently until the doctor was out the
door, and then he said, "What's the problem here,
Data?"
"Admiral ... I didn't want Dr.
Hauman here because, frankly ... I was afraid
that you would say things that would be incriminating and I
didn't want there to be a witness who had less
loyalty to you than I do."
"Incriminating? Data," Riker said, trying
to keep his anger down, "what do you mean? Isn't
it obvious what's happened?"
"I blame myself, sir. I tried to tell you
something I hoped would give you some measure of
peace. But instead it is moving you toward thinking the
unthinkable. It's obvious to me, sir, what's
going to happen. You intend to try and step through the
Guardian of Forever. To go back in time and save
the life of Counselor Troi, and by doing so,
change history."
"No, Data. Fix history. Don't you
get it?" Riker started to pace the room, unable
to contain his excitement. "She wasn't supposed
to die! Someone went back, from right now, or
maybe even years in the future. And they
poisoned her!"
"We don't know that."
"We do know that! The poison came from the
future! Maybe our future, or
perhaps her future which is our past, which is ..."
His voice trailed off. "Give me a minute.
I get confused sometimes when I discuss time
travel."
"I
understand what you're saying, sir. But I
must point out that Raxatocin has been known
to occur in nature, even before it was developed as
a poison. It's possible that somehow she
acquired it through some unique and bizarre combination
of circumstances."
"Remotely possible, but not likely. I'm
telling you, Data, you were absolutely right about
her being a focal point in time. But it's the
reverse of Edith Keeler. Deanna wasn't
supposed to die. She was supposed to live. Our
world, this world--it's not the "correct"' time line.
It's the wrong one!"
"And your hope is that, if you're allowed to go
through the Guardian of Forever, you'll have the
opportunity to set things right."
"That's correct."
Although Data's expression didn't change,
it was clear that a great deal was running through his mind.
And all of it involved trying to determine some way
to deal with this new and bizarre situation.
"Admiral ... you cannot be allowed to do it."
"I'm giving you a direct order to--"
But Data shook his head. "No, sir. Not this
time. It's not going to work, and pulling rank is
going to be of no use whatsoever. Starfleet
regulations in this matter are very, very specific.
Ever since the first Enterprise slingshot back
through time and proved that it could be done, a set of
specific guidelines were developed regarding
time travel. And the foremost of those guidelines
is, no tampering."
"Dammit, Data, someone already tampered!"
"We can't be certain of that. What we can be
certain of is Starfleet regulations--"
"The hell with regulations!" Riker stood
barely two feet from Data, his fists clenched,
his temper flaring beyond control. "Deanna's life
is at stake!"
"Deanna has no life, Admiral.
Deanna is dead." Data's calm was a
striking contrast to Riker's fury. "She has
been dead for four decades. Her death helped
determine the universe in which we've lived all
these years."
"Then I don't want to live in this
universe. I want to cross over, like Tasha
did."
"That's not possible, Admiral. And if you
enter the Guardian, you put at risk the lives
and reality of uncounted innocent people. Many things have
happened since Counselor Troi died. I've
evolved, both in terms of self-expression and in
command ability. You have your Starbase to command."
Riker laughed bitterly.
"Wesley has his own command," Data continued.
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