Imzadi. Part 30

Riker had lapsed into silence, but that silence was hardly benign. He fairly radiated urgency, bordering on controlled desperation. He stood there and watched as Deanna's body, still in its encas.e.m.e.nt, 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 encas.e.m.e.nt. "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, pa.s.sing 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 h.e.l.l. 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 he 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 fas.h.i.+on. 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. Ma.s.sive 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 circ.u.mstances."

"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 h.e.l.l 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. "Geordi, Worf, Alexander... all of them have lived their lives as the fates have determined. People have been born and died for forty years since the death of Deanna. Things have happened as they were meant to happen. You cannot now suddenly flip open the books of history, erase what's been written, and reinscribe it with a story more to your liking."

"I could go before Starfleet-"

"That's certainly your prerogative," agreed Data. "But I do not foresee any instance where Starfleet will be willing to risk sacrificing all reality for the sake of one woman."

Riker was hushed. Sensing that perhaps he was getting through to him, Data pressed on. "Have you considered something, Admiral? You say that all you wish to do is save Deanna. But have you considered the possibility that-even if you accomplish your task-you might, in the midst of doing it, make matters worse? With knowledge of forty years' worth of events, you could easily say something, do something, that has either an immediate impact or an influence further down the time stream. If knowledge is power, then knowledge of the future is the ultimate power. No one, Admiral... not you, nor l... no one has the wisdom to wield that power. The nontampering rule of time travel is in place for just as solid a reason as the Prime Directive. And as in the case of the Prime Directive, it may be something that's difficult for us to live with... but it is, nonetheless, necessary."

Riker stood with his back to Data. And Data could see. slowly but surely, a lot of the fire and spark slowly draining from him. His shoulders slumped, his posture drooped. His hands, which had been tightly curled around the edges of the table. slackened.

When he spoke, it was with the air of defeat that he had carried with him all these years. "She is just one woman, isn't she."

"Yes, sir. And you, sir... are a conscientious and ethical man. You would not put at risk an entire reality... for the sake of one woman."

"All right, Data," Riker said tiredly. "You've convinced me. Maybe it's... maybe it's time I just realized that I have to let go."

"I think, sir, it would be for the best."

Riker turned to face him, and there was the same despondency that Data had seen when he picked up Riker on Betazed.

"Take me home, Data," he said quietly. "And we'll let Deanna rest in peace."

The second return trip to Starbase 86 was uneventful. There were no more sudden outbursts from Admiral Riker, no more abrupt flurries of activity. He stayed in his cabin the entire time. Several times Data went to him, tried to engage him in casual conversation about routine matters of policy, or sought his advice on various topics that had come up in the normal course of activity.

In each instance, Riker's replies were terse and to the point. He did not try to drive away companions.h.i.+p, but he did not welcome it. He simply... existed. Data noted that Riker didn't seem interested in meeting the world on any sort of terms.

For a time, Data was concerned that Riker was making some sort of plan to head for the Guardian of Forever the moment he was dropped off at 86. Although Data hated resorting to subterfuge, he nevertheless sent his s.h.i.+p's counselor to try to draw out Riker on what was bothering him. The admiral was not particularly responsive, but that didn't matter. He didn't know that the counselor was a full Betazoid who, upon being told that urgent matters were at stake, forced himself to probe more deeply-albeit very gently-than he would normally have.

He reported back to Data and the account was precisely what Data had hoped to hear. "He is rather despondent, Commodore," said the counselor. "But if I had to select any single word that would most describe him at this moment, I would have to say... resigned."

"Resigned to what?"

"Resigned to whatever years he has left. Resigned to his life. For all intents and purposes... he's given up."

To a large measure, this was good news. And yet, Data could not help but feel a great sense of loss upon hearing this. As if he had somehow pa.s.sed a sentence of living death upon his friend.

When he informed Riker that they had arrived at Starbase 86, the information received the merest nod of acknowledgment from him. He packed his bags quietly, and Data accompanied him to the transporter room.

"If it's all the same to you, Admiral," Data said, "I'd like to beam down with you."

Riker shrugged. "The s.p.a.ce station is open to everyone. Why should the commander of the Enterprise be excluded?" It was the longest single sentence he had uttered in twenty-four hours.

Lieutenant Dexter was waiting for them at the transporter platform of the starbase and gave that customary, slightly puckered smile that he specialized in. "It's good to have you back, Admiral. I trust everything went smoothly on Betazed?"

"Fine." Riker nodded his head in Data's direction. "You know Commodore Data?"

"Actually I don't believe we've had the pleasure," said Dexter, shaking Data's hand.

Riker stepped around them and headed for his office. Dexter started to follow at his heels, but Data held him slightly back and spoke in a low undertone. "The admiral went through something of an ordeal on Betazed. I would be most appreciative if you could keep a close eye on him for the next few days."

"What?" said Dexter nervously, casting a surrept.i.tious glance at Riker. "He's not sick or anything, is he?"

"I don't believe so. But he is quite dispirited. I would strongly suggest that you make every endeavor to proceed with business as usual. And if he should do anything out of the ordinary please contact me via subs.p.a.ce radio."

"All right. Consider it done, Commodore."

"Thank you." In a slightly raised voice, Data now called out, "Admiral-I must return to the Enterprise. If I can be of further use..."

Riker stopped and turned, looking at Data sadly. "No, Commodore. I believe you've done more than enough." And he entered his office, the doors hissing shut behind him.

Dexter s.h.i.+vered slightly. "Now that is someone who is in a very bad mood."

"Yes," confirmed Data. "Unfortunately, the mood has persisted for forty years."

"And the Chance will be arriving by this time tomorrow," said Dexter. "We're prepared for restocking. Oh... and Starfleet sent another reminder about processing paperwork on time."

Riker regarded Dexter with a steady gaze. "Tell Starfleet," he said thoughtfully, "that we'll speed up the paperwork as soon as they send us paper."

Dexter blinked owlishly. "Sir... no one really uses paper anymore, to any great degree. It's... it's just a phrase, sir. Relatively speaking."

"Fine. Then tell Starfleet that we'll be processing our figurative paperwork on time... relatively speaking. Time, after all, is relative."

"Yes, sir," said Dexter tiredly.

"Is there anything else?"

"No, sir," said Dexter, tapping his computer padd.

"I didn't think so," said Riker slowly. "There wouldn't be, would there. Same old thing. Day in, day out. And time pa.s.ses."

"Yes, sir." Now Dexter was starting to sound nervous. "Admiral, are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Riker sighed loudly. "Just fine."

Dexter nodded and then backed out of the office, taking as much time as he could to watch Riker. Riker, for his part, had his chin propped up on his hand, but spared a moment to toss off a cheery wave at Dexter before the door closed.

And then he was alone.