CHAPTER 9

The habak was a rectangular room in a high tower, which served the Indians of Darvon V as a ceremonial chamber. The only way to enter it was via a wooden ladder that came through a hole in the floor. Another ladder led through a hole in the ceiling, which opened the place to the long, pale rays of the sun.

There was also a firepit. Though it hadn't been used for several days, it still gave off a thick, acrid smell of burned wood.

Wesley Crusher had spent the morning studying the sacred hangings that decorated the walls of the habak.

He had studied them before; he would study them many more times before his journey—or this part of it—was done.

And the funny thing was, as many times as he scrutinized the woven wall hangings and the colorful symbols that populated them, he never grew bored. There always seemed to be some level of meaning he hadn't conternplated yet... some subtle, new wisdom to be discovered in them.

"Wesley?"

The young man turned and saw that the Traveler had joined him in the chamber. Wes hadn't seen him enter, but that was nothing unusual. The Traveler didn't come and go as normal people did.

More and more as time went on, neither did Wesley himself. As he practiced translating himself into other planes of existence, he was gradually eliminating the need to walk anywhere... or, in this case, to climb a ladder.

Of course, most of the time, he walked and climbed anyway. It just felt better. And a part of him hoped that it always would.

"Yes, Traveler?" he replied.

The being from Tau Ceti eyed him with an intensity that surprised him. "Do you not sense it?" he asked.

Sense... it? Wesley shook his head. "No… I don't. What is it I'm supposed to sense?"

Rather than answer out loud, the Traveler moved to one of the wall hangings and pointed. The young man followed his teacher's finger to a picture of something bright and multicolored—something Wesley couldn't readily identify. What's more, he was reasonably certain that the image hadn't been there before.

Opening his mind to it, he wove himself into the picture's reality—inspecting it not only on this plane, but on several others. He was intrigued to see how pervasive it was, how it seemed to transcend every layer of existence he touched.

Then, urged by an instinct he couldn't name or pretend to understand, he turned to another image near it. This one was more easily recognizable. It was the Enterprise. But like the burst of color, he found, it existed on more than one plane.

Suddenly, Wesley got it. When he turned back to the Traveler, it was with a weight on his heart. "No," he said. "I can't let it happen."

"It is already happening," his teacher advised him.

"Then I've got to stop it," he said.

The Traveler smiled benignly at him. "Then you believe it is wise for you to intervene?"

The young man's mouth went dry as dust. "Traveler... they're my friends. My family. How can I fail to intervene?"

His teacher continued to smile. "Not so long ago, it appeared that there would be violence in this village. Do you remember?"

Wesley nodded. How could he forget? The Indians who lived here had made prisoners of some Cardassians, and Captain Picard had been duty-bound to free them. For a few tense moments, the Federation security team had squared off against the villagers, and it seemed like a good bet that there would be blood spilled before the day was out.

He had wanted to do something back then—but the Traveler had convinced him not to. He'd said, "They must find their own destinies, Wesley. It is not our place to interfere." And then: "Have faith in their abilities to solve their problems on their own." Sure enough, the captain found a way to avoid disaster that day. But was it sheer luck that things had worked out... or did the Traveler know in advance that it would happen that way? Even after all his studies, Wesley still wasn't entirely sure.

"Is it like... the Prime Directire?" he asked out loud. "Are we forbidden to get involved?"

His teacher shrugged a bit. "There are always laws, Wesley. Some are self-imposed, and others are imposed upon us--but they are laws nonetheless."

The human frowned as he glanced again at the burst of color. "But aren't there times when a law needs to be broken? Aren't there exceptions?"

The Traveler tilted his head in a way that made him look a little like Data. "Perhaps. But to whom should we entrust that decision? Who has the wisdom to know when we should make an exception?"

Wesley sighed. It was like the Prime Directive. "Then I can't do a thing to help them? To tell them what's going on?"

His teacher gazed at him sympathetically. "If I were you," he replied finally, "I would not interfere... even if it were within my power."

The human walked over to the bench that was built into the western wall and sat down heavily. Running his fingers through his hair, he breathed a ragged breath.

"Morn..." he whispered.

Riker shook his head as he sat in his customary place at the observation lounge's dark, reflective table, surrounded by the ship's other senior officers. He'd seen his share of fantastic phenomena, but this one took the cake.

The idea that the captain was traveling through time, the victim of some capricious agency as yet beyond their understanding... it was bizarre, to say the least. And more than a little unsettling.

As the first officer gazed at Picard, he had the feeling that the captain might pop in and out of their reality at any time—an entire journey, perhaps two or three days' worth, completed in the space of an eyeblink.

Still, it wasn't anyone's imagination. It was happening. Dr. Crusher had shown him proof of that—and they'd had their run-ins with Time before, so they all knew that temporal travel was possible.

Riker might have felt better if they'd had a little more to go on—some data they could sink their collective teeth into. Unfortunately, they had nothing of the kind.

But then, that was the purpose of this meeting, wasn't it? To see what they could nail down with regard to Picard's time-shifting. And then to see what—if anything—they could do about it.

"Thank you all for being prompt," the captain told them. "As you know," he added only half-seriously, "time is of the essence."

Then, turning to Deanna, he asked, "Counselor, do you remember the first day I came aboard the Enterprise?"

She returned his gaze. "Yes, I think I do."

Picard leaned forward. "What happened after the welcoming ceremony?"

"You mean after you disembarked from the Galileo?"

He nodded. "Yes."

Deanna thought for a moment. "There was a reception in Ten-Forward. I introduced you to Worf and the other senior officers.... "

The captain held up his hand to stop her. "Do you have any memory of me calling for a red alert in spacedock? Do you remember Starfleet diverting us from Farpoint to the Neutral Zone to investigate a spatial anomaly?"

She thought again. "No… I don't."

Picard leaned back in his chair. "As you may have gathered, I do. I experienced those events just a few short hours ago."

"It would appear," remarked Data, "that there is a discontinuity between the time periods you have described. Events in one period would seem to have no effect on the other two."

"And yet," Riker offered, "in both the past and the present... there's a report of the same anomaly in the Devron system. It's hard for me to believe that's a coincidence."

The captain nodded. "And for all I know, there may be a similar anomaly in the future, as well."

"Maybe," commented Geordi, "the anomaly is some kind of... temporal disruptien." He positioned his hands as if he were holding a bowl, in an attempt to describe the thing. "A hole in the continuum, so to speak."

Beverly turned to Picard. "But how is all this related to your time-shifting?"

The captain grunted. "A good question. I suspect I may have some answers when I make my next round-trip to the past... or the future, whichever comes first."

"In the meantime," Riker reminded him, "we've got the Romulans to keep us from getting bored."

Picard turned to him, acknowledging the need for discussion. Regardless of what else was happening to him, that problem hadn't gone away.

"Thank you for reminding me, Number One. Insofar as the current mission is concerned, all departments should submit combat-readiness reports by oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow." He looked from one face to the next. "I hope it won't come to that, of course—but if it does, I want to be ready. Dismissed."

Everyone rose to go, intent on their respective assignments. As Deanna headed for the door, Riker caught her attention.

"Looks like it's going to be a late night," he said.

"Want to get some dinner first?" There was something in her eyes that he hadn't quite expected. A hesitation, a feeling of awkwardness. He wondered why.

"Actually," said Deanna, "I..." She glanced over the first officer's shoulder. "I mean... we have plans." Riker turned to follow her gaze—and found himself looking at Worf. It caught him off-guard, but he recovered quickly enough.

Apparently, the relationship between Deanna and his Klingon friend had progressed further than he realized.

But hell... that was no fault of theirs, was it? They didn't have to keep the first officer apprised of their every move.

"I see," he said, doing his best to sound casual. "Well, then... see you tomorrow morning."

Worf inclined his massive head. "Good night, sir."

Riker inclined his head in turn. "Worf..."

He stood there for a moment, watching the two of them file out after the others—and acknowledged an emptiness in the pit of his belly that was directly related to the sight.

Not that he had any right to tell either of them whom they could spend their time with. No one was in a position to do that.

But, even though he and Deanna hadn't been lovers for several years now—since his assignment on Betazed came to an end—he'd always thought of her as his special friend. His confidante. His close companion.

And now, he saw that someone else might be taking his place in that regard. Someone he liked and respected, true—but it was still a change he wasn't looking forward to.

Or was there more to it than that? Did his feelings run deeper than he cared to admit? At some level, had he harbored the hope that, in the end, he and Deanna would wind up together again?

Beleaguered by such disturbing thoughts, he sighed and went back out onto the bridge.