CHAPTER 5

Entering the doctor's office, Picard sat down at her desk and activated the desktop monitor. After a moment, the solemn visage of Admiral Nakamura appeared on the screen.

"Captain," said the admiral.

"Admiral," returned Picard. One didn't drag out Priority One messages with small talk.

Nakamura shifted slightly in his chair. "Jean-Luc, I'm initiating a fleetwide yellow alert. Starfleet intelligence has picked up some disturbing reports from the Romulan Empire."

"What sort of news?" asked the captain.

The admiral frowned. "It appears that they're mobilizing for something. At least thirty Warbirds have been pulled from other assignments and are heading for the Neutral Zone."

That was disturbing news indeed. "Is there any indication why they would make such a blatantly aggressive move, Admiral?"

"Perhaps," said Nakamura. "Our operatives on Romulus have indicated that something is happening in the Neutral Zone—specifically, in the Devron system. Our own long-range scans have picked up some kind of spatial anomaly in the area, but we can't tell what it is—or why the Romulans might have taken an interest in it."

"I see," responded Picard. "And what are our orders?"

The admiral scowled. "As you can imagine, this is a delicate situation. I'm deploying fifteen starships along our side of the Neutral Zone. And I want you to go there as well—to see if you can find out what's going on in the Devron system."

The captain pondered his instructions. "Am I authorized to enter the Zone?" he inquired.

Nakamura shook his head. "Not yet. Wait and see what the Romulans do. You can conduct long-range scans, send probes if you wish... but don't cross the border unless they cross it first."

"Understood," Picard assured him.

"Good luck," said the admiral. And with that, his image vanished, replaced with the official insignia of Starfleet.

Turning off the monitor, the captain stood…

... and felt a sudden wave of vertigo wash over him.

He felt himself falling... falling... reaching out... until he was caught by a pair of strong arms.

Looking up, he saw that it was La Forge who had rescued him. The man's face was puckered with concern.

"Captain... what's wrong?" he asked.

With his friend's help, Picard steadied himself and looked around. His family's vineyard seemed to stretch out forever in every direction. But... that wasn't right, was it? He didn't belong in the vineyard... or didn't.

"Is something wrong, sir?" pressed La Forge.

The older man tried to think. "I don't know," he responded. "I... I wasn't here a moment ago..."

His visitor's worry lines deepened. "What do you mean? You've been right here with me, sir."

Picard groped for an answer. He tried to concentrate, to remember... but the damned Irumodic syndrome kept dragging down his every effort.

If only he were younger. If only his mind hadn't deteriorated. If only.

Stop it, he told himself. You're not going to get anywhere feeling sorry for yourself. Now, what happened to you? Try to remember, dammit.

"No," he said at last. "I wasn't here. I was somewhere else... a long time ago." He concentrated harder. "I was talking to someone.... " And then it came to him. Beverly…

"Beverly was there." He looked up at La Forge and saw an expression of disbelief. Picard's former comrade was beginning to wonder if the old man was losing it. It was evident in his eyes, even if they had been created in a lab somewhere.

"It's okay, Captain." He took hold of the vintner's arm. "Everything's going to be all right."

Flushed with anger, Picard pulled his arm away. "I am not senile. It happened, I tell you. I was here, with you... and then I was in another place..." But where was it?

Again, he had a flash of insight. "It was... it was back on the Enterprise!" he croaked.

But how was that possible? He hadn't been on his old ship in a quarter of a century. And the more he thought about it, the more a host of doubts began to set in.

"At least," he went on, "I think it was the Enterprise. It seemed like sickbay... yes... but maybe it was a hospital... or..." He shrugged. How could he know? How could he be sure?

La Forge looked at him. "Captain, I think we should go back to the house. We could call a doctor...."

Picard felt his anger crawl up into his throat, where it threatened to choke him. "No,"he grated. "I know what you're thinking. It's the Irumodic syndrome. It's beginning to... to affect the captain's mind. Well, it's not that. And... and I wasn't daydreaming either, dammit."

La Forge held up a hand for peace. "All right, sir...all right. Just calm down." The older man felt the heat in his face start to ebb away. He straightened to his full height. "Apology accepted," he said, even though—technically—his visitor hadn't tendered one.

"So," La Forge probed, "something's happened. You've gone... er, somewhere else. And back again."

Picard nodded emphatically. "Damned right I have."

"Then..." The younger man appealed to him with his artificial eyes. "What do you want to do about it?" The vintner considered the request, doing his best to seize on a course of action. Finally, one came to mind.

"I want to see Data," he announced.

La Forge mulled it over. "I don't get it. Why Data?"

This was annoying. "Because I think he can help."

The younger man looked at him. "If you don't mind my asking, sir... help how?"

The anger exploded in him, almost as hot and bright as before. "I don't know!" roared Picard. "I don't know—but I want to see him, do you understand me?" In the aftermath of the captain's outburst, La Forge hesitated. Obviously, he still wasn't putting much credence in anything the older man said. But in the end, he seemed to come to terms with the idea.

"Okay, sir. We'll go see Data, if that's what you want."

"It is," Picard confirmed.

The younger man's eyes narrowed. "He's still at Cambridge, isn't he?" It was a good question. "Yes," said the vintner. "I think he..."

He never finished the sentence, distracted by a sudden movement in the corner of his eye. Turning toward it, he saw the intruders again—the scraggly, undernourished, hollow-eyed souls he'd noticed before.

But this time, there weren't three of them. There were six.

As before, they were jeering and pointing at Picard— though he hadn't the slightest idea why. Nor, for that matter, could he guess what they were doing here a second time.

He grabbed La Forge by the arm and, with an effort, managed to turn him in the intruders' direction. "Do you see them?" he asked. "Do you?"

The other man looked out over the rolling vineyards.

Then he looked back at Picard. "See who?"

The captain pointed to them. "They're out there," he said. "Laughing at me. Why are they laughing, dammit?"

Why indeed? What was so funny7 And who were they, anyway?

La Forge put his arm around Picard. It was a patently protective gesture. "Come on, Captain. Let's go see Data." Picard started to protest—and then realized that the intruders were gone. There wasn't a sign of them—not a rag, not an echo. He scanned the vineyards in all directions, to no avail.

But how could they have disappeared so quickly? It was as if they'd dropped into a hole in the earth.

Or was it possible that he had imagined them after all? That they had never existed in the first place?

The older man swallowed. "Yes," he muttered. "Data... yes, of course."

And, feeling a little weak in the knees, he allowed his former comrade to guide him as they walked back toward the house.

Cambridge University hadn't changed much over the millennium or so since it was founded. At least, that was Geordi's understanding. Personally, he had been through the place only once before, on a family outing— and that was when he was very small.

Data's residence at the university was an old English manor house, built around the end of the sixteenth century. It had the smell of old wood about it. As Geordi approached the front door, with the captain at his side, he noticed the large brass knocker. It had been molded in the shape of a long-maned lion's head.

Geordi smiled. Here, as on the Picard family property, the primitive had been preserved and venerated. No doubt it was making the captain feel right at home.

He had been alarmed by Picard's behavior back in the vineyards. However, the captain hadn't seemed nearly so distracted on the way here. In fact, his excitement had seemed to focus his thoughts—to make him more lucid.

Why, there had been times on the trip from France to England when Geordi had completely forgotten that the man had Irumodic syndrome. Well, almost completely.

There had been the incident with the poodle.

Reaching for the knocker, Geordi banged it a couple of times on the heavy wooden door. After a moment, the door opened. A dour-looking, red-faced woman somewhere in her fifties peered out at them. She looked broad enough to put the average Tellarite to shame.

"State your business," said the woman, with a heavy English accent. Her small, deep-set eyes announced that the two men were anything but welcome here, and dared them to say otherwise.

Still, they hadn't come all this way to be turned back now. "We're here to see Mr. Data," the former chief engineer explained. "My name is Geordi La Forge and this is Jean-Luc Picard. We're old friends of his."

The woman's eyes narrowed almost to slits. "I'm sure you are, sir. Everyone's friends with Mr. Data, it appears. But the professor's busy right now and can't be disturbed, y'see."

"But..."

"I'm sorry, sir." As she began to close the door, Picard put his foot in the way. The woman glared at him.

"It's very important we see him immediately," he elaborated, glaring back. "We've come all the way from France."

The woman's expression indicated that she was not impressed. "Have you got wax in your ears?" she asked. "I told you he's busy, sir. If you wish to make an. appointment, you'll have to go through the university— and let them decide how important it is. Now, don't make me call the constable on you, because I won't hesitate to--"

"Jessel? Who's at the door?"

Geordi would have known that voice anywhere— although there was a range of expressiveness in it that he hadn't heard before. The woman looked irritated.

Obviously, she had no choice now but to announce their presence there.

"Just some friends of yours, sir," she called back into the house. "I told them to come back another time, when you're not so busy."

"Now, Jessel, I told you about frightening people away…"

As the sentence hung unfinished in the air, an inner door swung open--revealing none other than their old colleague, Data. Being an android, he hadn't aged over the years. However, there was a prominent streak of gray on one side of his head—not a natural streak, but one that looked as if a paintbrush had been taken to his head.

Data was wearing a cranberry-colored, synthetic-silk smoking jacket--the perfect complement to his surroundings. As he peered out at Geordi and the captain, his eyes seemed to go blank for a moment. Then, slowly, a smile broke out on his face.

"Geordi!" he exclaimed. "Captain!" He held out a hand to them.

Being a bit closer, Geordi was the first to take it.

"It's good to see you, Data." Picard shook hands with him, too.

"It's been a long time," he noted.

The android nodded. "Too long, sir." Turning to his housekeeper, he said, "Jessel, these are my old shipmates. The ones I have told you about."

The woman harrumphed. "Oh. The Enterprise bunch. How delightful." And turning on her heel, she vanished into the house.

Unperturbed, Data ushered them in. "What a pleasant surprise this is." And then, glancing back at the departing housekeeper: "Tea and biscuits for everyone, Jessel."