NEW TNG The Institute (Picard) [PG]
Ventura33
TNG; Picard; rated PG.
By Ventura33 feed...@ventura33.com
http://www.ventura33.com
Summary: Picard visits a veterans' hospital for ex-Borg. This
story is a sequel to "Imperfection" and "The Relevance of Hope."
Disclaimer: Paramount (long and weary sigh)
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A plain, functional three-story building tucked away behind tall pine
trees, the Cybernetics Institute in Palo Alto looked like any of the
numerous research facilities in Northern California. Most area
residents, if they thought about it at all, assumed its purpose to be
the study of captured Borg technology. That guess wasn't too far
wrong, although, like most assumptions, it was incomplete and rapidly
becoming more so.
In recent years, since word had gotten out that the Federation
possessed both the medical capability to remove Borg implants and the
willingness to provide aid to refugees, an increasing number of Borg
defectors had found their way into Federation space. Most of them
were quietly given medical treatment at remote starbases before their
resettlement on distant colony worlds. Only those former drones who
were human, or who belonged to other Federation member species, were
brought to the Cybernetics Institute for treatment and
rehabilitation. The facility had become, in effect, a highly
specialized veterans' hospital.
The staff showed no surprise at the presence of a Starfleet captain
walking toward the front entrance on this April morning, his bald
scalp glistening in the light rain. He had been, after all, their
first patient.
"Captain Picard, it's good to see you again."
The groundskeeper, looking up from her petunias, almost smiled, but
not quite. That was one of the last human attributes to return,
Picard had noticed. Although the doctors here could work wonders in
restoring their patients' mutilated, half-mechanical bodies to a
semblance of normal humanity, the restoration of the soul was quite
another matter.
"It's good to be back," Picard replied.
He mulled over the truthfulness of that statement as he entered the
foyer, where what should have been a cheerful variety of potted
plants had been rearranged into neat lines with inhuman precision.
The staff made a point of positioning them more randomly, but the
patients often had difficulty tolerating even such a slight
manifestation of disorder.
The doctors had told Picard years ago that his recovery was complete,
but although he no longer had reason to undergo periodic
examinations, he still found himself returning to the Institute on
occasion. As the first human to return alive from the Borg
Collective, he could set an inspirational example for the patients,
could give them hope that it was possible to return to their previous
lives. He made a point of meeting with all of the newly admitted
patients during his visits, although their numbers had increased
enough so that it would soon become impracticable for him to do so.
To be honest with himself, there was more to his visits than the
occasional few hours of charitable work with the less fortunate.
Sometimes he felt that it helped him, as well, to spend time in the
company of those who shared his nightmares, who could also hear the
collective voices echoing down the dark and distorted pathways of
dream-terror.
Turning his attention away from the plants, Picard began to climb the
staircase that led to the second floor, an impressively wide and
curving marble structure with an elegant banister. In all his
visits, he realized, he'd never seen one of the patients use the
stairs. After all, when elegance was irrelevant, the lift was a more
efficient means of getting from one place to another.
More potted plants adorned the hallway, along with various landscape
paintings evidently meant to reaccustom the patients to views of
their native worlds. He halted in front of a door and rang the
chime, prepared to wait for a while before hearing a response. The
concept of having private quarters often seemed strange to the
patients at first, after the Collective's utter lack of privacy; many
of them did not even realize that they could give or withhold
permission for someone to enter.
"Come in." A woman's voice, low and slightly accented.
The door slid open, revealing a small room filled almost to bursting
with colorful flower arrangements, huge stuffed animals, and
oversized family portraits. It took Picard a moment to locate the
room's petite occupant, who was standing quietly beside the window,
as still as a figurine among all the flowers and gifts. She had been
luckier than most, Picard knew. Many families never responded to the
notification, choosing to pretend that their Borg kin no longer
existed.
Her dark eyes widened in recognition, and she hesitated briefly
before she spoke in answer. "Captain Picard."
She had been about to call him Locutus, he knew. Most of them did.
At first it had bothered him, but annoyance seemed a petty reaction
in light of all that they had endured. Taking a step across the
threshold, Picard matched his tone and words to the formality of her
own. "Lieutenant Perez. Welcome home."
The somber face was recognizable, just, as the woman whose smile
gleamed from the nearest portrait. The surgeons weren't to blame;
their techniques had improved markedly since they'd treated the first
ex-drones. Not a speck of Borg metal could be seen anywhere,
although Picard presumed that the heavy black turtleneck sweater hid
a cybernetic implant or two.
"I was just about to go outside for a walk, Captain, if you would
care to join me." The lieutenant gestured rather vaguely in the
direction of the window as she moved away from it. "My counselor
wants me to spend more time outdoors."
"Indeed." Picard fell into step beside her, remembering his own
impressions of the natural world shortly after his rescue from the
Collective. The French countryside had seemed strangely transformed,
almost sinister, an anarchic sprawl of greenery cascading in all
directions. The trees had jutted out of the ground like gargantuan,
many-limbed monsters clawing their way toward an impossibly azure
sky. Even his family's vineyard had taken on the appearance of a
tangled nest of snakes coiling and tentacles flailing, while masses
of dark, bulging globes had peered out from under concealing leaves.
He recalled just how difficult it had been to complete a simple
stroll around the terrace.
Perez began to shiver noticeably as she left the building, although
her thick sweater should have given her more than enough warmth on
this mild spring morning. She folded her arms tightly across her
chest. Her face took on a red, puffy appearance, and small welts
became visible wherever a drop of rain came into contact with bare
skin. An allergic reaction of sorts, triggered by exposure to cool
temperatures, this condition -- known as cold urticaria -- was not at
all unusual among former drones in the early days of their recovery.
Although Picard had not been affected by it, he knew from his
observation of other patients that the condition usually required no
treatment. It could be expected to disappear on its own as the
immune system and various temperature-regulating mechanisms returned
to normal.
"You might be more comfortable taking a walk later in the day,"
Picard suggested gently. "The sky is expected to clear before noon."
The lieutenant deliberately unfolded her arms and held her hands
stiffly at her sides. She continued along the gravel path into the
wooded area without breaking her precise stride.
"I like walking in the rain. I've always liked walking in the rain."
She cast an apprehensive glance toward the looming pines and
declared, in a brittle and overly loud voice, "I've always liked
walking through the woods in the rain."
A squirrel darted across the path, its soft brown fur glistening
against the damp gravel. Picard watched in silence as the animal
scrambled up a dripping branch and disappeared into the trees. He
took a deep breath of the humid air before he spoke again.
"Lieutenant Perez, there's no shame in acknowledging that you are,"
Picard paused for a moment as he selected a suitably neutral word,
"changed. The healing process will take some time. To be captured
by an enemy, by any enemy, is a terrifying experience for even the
strongest and bravest among us. I was abducted by the Borg more than
ten years ago, and I still have nightmares, even now, of being --
back there."
"I have no memories at all. None that I'm able to remember, that
is." Perez lifted a hand to brush a wet, curling lock of hair away
from her face before she spoke again. "The doctors were able to
remove almost all of the implants from my brain, including various
memory storage devices. I was informed that the procedure would
result in near-total amnesia as to my experiences after my capture.
Although I can't remember that conversation, I assume that I must
have decided those memories wouldn't be much of a loss."
"But you still see images from time to time. Flashbacks, perhaps,
triggered by people and things that remind you of subconscious
memories." That was the only plausible explanation, Picard
concluded, for the lieutenant's hesitation in identifying him when
she had first seen him standing in the doorway of her room.
"Sometimes," Perez acknowledged, "but the images seem very distant,
and there's not much that makes sense. I sometimes see one of my
daughters aboard the enemy ship, protecting me from the Collective.
Of course, she was safely on Earth the whole time. My counselor says
that it's quite common for the human mind, when faced with a
traumatic situation, to construct imaginary protective figures of
some sort."
"So it is."
Picard walked beside the lieutenant in silence for a while, his boots
crunching against the wet gravel. An imaginary protective figure
made for a perfectly logical theory of events, he knew, and it was
the most natural conclusion for a counselor to have reached. After
all, the Institute's counselors were not military interrogators and,
although they were required to hold low-level security clearances,
were not normally briefed on the more sensitive details of each
patient's rescue from the Collective. The staff of the Institute
would have been told no more than the information approved for public
release, which was that the lieutenant had been found in a stasis
unit inside an automated Borg cargo pod. A reasonable inference
would be that she had somehow managed to resist the Collective's
control for just long enough to escape.
Reasonable -- and of course, like most assumptions, largely
inaccurate. Picard's own security clearance would not have permitted
him to access the data file found in the cargo pod, but for the fact
that its creator had addressed the narrative expressly to him.
"Sometimes the images seem very real," Perez went on, her soft voice
distracting Picard from his thoughts as the two of them emerged from
the woods and continued along a smoothly paved sidewalk. The rain
had given way to a faint mist and a brightening sky, and the
temperature was rising noticeably. Picard glanced toward the
lieutenant and saw that the red mass of welts on her face had by now
faded almost entirely away.
He longed to ask her to go on talking, to tell him all that she could
remember about the Borg child who had made the inexplicable choice to
preserve the life of a human captive. Of course, he could not; the
less memory Perez had of her experiences, the safer the child would
be. No one knew the extent to which the Collective had become
capable, over the past several years, of covertly gathering
intelligence on Earth.
A light breeze touched Picard's face. He closed his eyes for a
moment as a vivid image came back to him: a sailboat off the Oregon
coast, the rhythmic sound of the waves, and the gray, somber face of
Lucienne, the girl-drone who had been unable to comprehend the
relevance of hope. Created from Picard's own genetic material, the
child had been sent into Federation space alone, as an agent of the
Collective. He had tried, and ultimately failed, to convince her of
the value of an individual human life.
Perhaps he had not entirely failed after all, Picard thought, as he
opened his eyes again to see the slim figure of the lieutenant, now a
few steps ahead of him, striding toward the Institute's entrance.
Lucienne herself, according to the message found in the cargo pod,
had been unsure of why she had chosen to aid one captive out of so
many, at great risk to her own life. The message had ended with a
plaintive question as to whether it would ever be possible to make
any sense of her experiences.
The pavement sparkled in the sunlight now. Perez halted for a few
seconds, waiting for her trailing companion to catch up.
"Captain Picard, I appreciate your taking the time to visit with me,
to speak of your own memories. I know that takes courage to do. I'm
not trying to cut our conversation short, but I have a scheduled
session with my counselor in nine point three . . ."
A sudden smile flashed across the lieutenant's face, and for just a
moment she looked exactly like the carefree woman of her portrait.
"In about ten minutes. I think I'm going to be all right, Captain.
It gets easier each day."
He remained standing on the sunlit pavement as Perez walked back into
the building, her stride noticeably more relaxed. Even if he could
somehow distill the meaning of this encounter into words, Picard
realized, there would be no possibility of conveying it to her child-
rescuer in the Collective. The risk of any such attempt would be too
great. Lucienne, who had protected herself by deliberately erasing a
broad swath of her own memories, would not even be able to understand
his response.
The only answer, Picard knew, was time.
Ke Roth
> The Institute
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Very interesting story. I have to admit I haven't read the related
tales - but I will, I promise! - but the imagery in this is stunning.
More striking, however is the underlying tone of hope versus
hopelessness, of the battle not yet entirely won (I loved the hint
that perhaps all or some the refugess are really unwitting spies!). I
think you have done a marvelous job in capturing that sensation in
this story, making it richer and more fulfilling - even though it's a
bit like one potato chip; it leaves one craving more!
Thanks for posting this!
Ke
Seema
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Lovely! This fic is superb on so many levels -- as others have
mentioned, the vivid and detailed descriptions really set the scene and
bring the reader right into the setting. And I love the idea here -- the
aftermath of 'recovering' from being Borg. Your Picard characterization
is right on target.
I think this one belongs in my 'must keep' file.
Seema
Ventura33
> it's a bit like one potato chip; it leaves one craving more!
Unlike other cravings, fanfic doesn't make you gain weight when you
overindulge. Thanks! Looking forward to more of your fic, as well!
-- Ventura33
Ventura33
> I think this one belongs in my 'must keep' file.
Thanks much, Seema!
-- Ventura33
whoa nellie
>
>
> TNG; Picard; rated PG.
>
> By Ventura33 feed...@ventura33.com
> http://www.ventura33.com
>
> Summary: Picard visits a veterans' hospital for ex-Borg. This
> story is a sequel to "Imperfection" and "The Relevance of Hope."
> Disclaimer: Paramount (long and weary sigh)
ROTFLMAO, best disclaimer ever!
Brilliant and fascinating extrapolation of the canon surrounding the
Borg as well as your other stories. Picard was written exquisitely in
this piece. The reactions of the families and even how the
environment was described through the eyes of the former Borg was
deftly done.
Warmest Wishes,
Whoa Nellie
Whoa Nellie's Picard/Vash Romance Fan Fiction website is at:
http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/Galaxy/7926/
Whoa Nellie's Sci-Fi Romance Fan Fiction website is at:
http://www.geocities.com/whoa_nellies2000/
Ventura33
>
> ROTFLMAO, best disclaimer ever!
Oh, I don't know about that, I've seen some very good ones in this
newsgroup. Thanks for the FB!
-- Ventura33
Catherine
> TNG; Picard; rated PG.
> By Ventura33 feed...@ventura33.com
> http://www.ventura33.com
>
comparatively brief story.
Very effective use and choice of words.
Catherine
Ventura33
"Catherine" wrote:
> This was GOOD!
thanks!
-- Ventura33
Alex Voy
>
> TNG; Picard; rated PG.
>
> By Ventura33 feed...@ventura33.com
> http://www.ventura33.com
This is a very impressive story, and one that I will certainly
remember.
I haven't read the previous two stories, but will definitely add them
to my list of future reading.
The whole tone of this story is just right. I particularly enjoyed the
unusual ex-Borg view of our world:
> "Indeed." Picard fell into step beside her, remembering his own
> impressions of the natural world shortly after his rescue from the
> Collective. The French countryside had seemed strangely transformed,
> almost sinister, an anarchic sprawl of greenery cascading in all
> directions. The trees had jutted out of the ground like gargantuan,
> many-limbed monsters clawing their way toward an impossibly azure
> sky. Even his family's vineyard had taken on the appearance of a
> tangled nest of snakes coiling and tentacles flailing, while masses
> of dark, bulging globes had peered out from under concealing leaves.
> He recalled just how difficult it had been to complete a simple
> stroll around the terrace.
Wonderful imagery in this paragraph. Also:
> More potted plants adorned the hallway, along with various landscape
> paintings evidently meant to reaccustom the patients to views of
> their native worlds. He halted in front of a door and rang the
> chime, prepared to wait for a while before hearing a response. The
> concept of having private quarters often seemed strange to the
> patients at first, after the Collective's utter lack of privacy; many
> of them did not even realize that they could give or withhold
> permission for someone to enter.
A clever and telling detail of Borg psychology. Picard was spot-on
too.
I really enjoyed this story, and look forward to the next instalment.
Apologies for the late response, but I've been having problems with a
certain worm. I won't be sending any private e-mails until I'm
guaranteed infection-free.
Alex
Lyra
> The Institute
>
Very atmospheric and lovely to read. From that scene with Sisko in
the Emissary it was clear that Picard has struggled greatly to find
healing from such a trauma. I wonder how much he found through
helping others as your story depicts--it is usually one of the most
effective methods. I found this very realistic and entirely
believeable. Thanks for getting it out to us.
Regards,
~Lyra
www.geocities.com/lyrastarwatcher
Ventura33
> Very atmospheric and lovely to read.
Thanks much for the FB!
-- Ventura33
Ventura33
> The whole tone of this story is just right.
Much appreciated! I wish you luck with your computer worm problems. Looks
as if there's a particularly bad one going around lately.
-- Ventura33