REPOST: "Leaptrek II", Part02/04
Mark D. Baushke
Submitted-by: "Katriena R. Knights" <76460...@compuserve.com>
Archive-URL: ftp://ftp-eng.cisco.com/ql-archive/alt.ql.creative/
Archive-name: leaptrek-ii/leaptrek-ii.p02
From: kr...@pyuxe.cc.bellcore.com (knights,katriena r)
Date: 6 Jan 1993 13:57 EST
Subject: LeapTrek II, chapter 2
LEAPTREK II
CHAPTER TWO
Beverly Crusher looked around herself in amazement. A moment
before, she had been in sickbay, doing a regular diagnostic check on
Geordi's VISOR implants. Now she was sitting on a hassock in the
middle of a large, all-white room, alone, and a little dizzy. She laid a
finger to her throat to check her own pulse. A little fast, but solid.
"Hello?" she called. Mentally, she was ticking off entries on a list of
aliens who might have abducted her. "Hello? Is anyone here?"
A door opened. She had not seen it before; its edges had been lost in
the solid white of the walls. A tall black woman entered. She wore a
white jacket and had a stethoscope around her neck.
"Hi," the woman said. "I'm Dr. Beeks. Please don't be alarmed. I'd
just like to check your heart rate and your blood pressure. Please sit
down."
Beverly sat. "May I ask what's going on?"
"Just sit quietly for a moment. Everything is all right."
Beverly stared in amazement as the doctor used the stethoscope,
then proceeded to take her blood pressure with an air-pumped cuff.
"Where am I?" she said as the doctor removed the cuff. "Why are
you using those . . . incredibly antiquated instruments?"
"Your heart rate is a little fast, and your blood pressure is a little
low," Dr. Beeks said. "But I think you're all right. Could you tell me
your name?"
"Beverly Crusher. Doctor Beverly Crusher. I'm Chief Medical Officer
on board the Starship Enterprise."
Dr. Beeks' eyes widened a bit. "The Enterprise? Again? Oh, boy."
****
Sam straightened. The round instrument which he held pointed at
Geordi LaForge's head had a narrow readout on the front. Each entry
read 100%. "Well, that looks good, anyway," he muttered.
"How is it, Doctor?" Geordi asked. "Do I need repairs?"
"No, no, you look fine," Sam replied. He snuck a look down at himself.
He was wearing a Starfleet uniform, again, but blue and black this
time, and he had on a long blue jacket over it. Something about the
ensemble looked distinctly feminine.
Geordi patted the table next to him. His VISOR lay just beyond his
hand. Sam picked it up and touched his fingers with it.
"Thank you, Doctor." He reattached the appliance to his head and
jumped down off the table. He looked at Sam, and Sam froze. But
Geordi made no unusual reaction. "I'll see you later."
"Right. Take care." Sam waved halfheartedly goodbye. His heart
was still skipping. He had been certain Geordi would take one look at
him and cry imposter. On the previous leap into Captain Picard,
Geordi's VISOR had tipped him off that there was something wrong.
Obviously, something had changed.
"Dr. Crusher," a voice came from behind him. Sam turned to face a
woman who was apparently another doctor. "Ensign Carelli is here.
She doesn't want to talk to anyone but you."
"All right. I'm done here. Send her over." Beverly Crusher, he
thought. He'd met her before, when he'd leaped into Captain Picard
and knocked himself unconscious on the captain's chair. He glanced
at the table. A metallic tray sat next to it, with a few instruments
scattered on top. He pushed them aside and looked into the tray.
Sure enough, there was Beverly, with her strong-featured face and
her coppery hair. The face was a bit dark under the eyes, and the
eyes were a little bloodshot. Sam pulled at his lower eyelids with
thumb and forefinger. This lady needed some sleep.
"Are you all right, Dr. Crusher?" A young woman had approached
him. Ensign Carelli, undoubtedly. She had one pip on her collar, so at
least the rank was right.
"I'm fine," said Sam. "Nothing a few hour's sleep won't cure. What
seems to be your complaint, Carelli?"
Carelli looked suddenly shy. "Could we talk in private?"
Sam shrugged. "Sure." He picked up an instrument which looked
very much like the one Beverly had used on him. He would probably
need it to make a diagnosis.
He waved Carelli ahead of him, trusting her to lead the way to
wherever Beverly usually did private consultations. There was a
small office toward the back part of sickbay. Carelli went in and sat
down in front of the desk. Sam took a seat behind it. "Now, what's
going on?"
"Well . . . " She hesitated. "I've been throwing up every morning for
the past week. I can't eat anything until noon. I've been really tired,
too, all the time, no matter how much I sleep. And it seems like I'm
running off to the head every ten minutes. And yesterday . . ." She
looked around, as if someone might be listening, then leaned closer to
Sam from across the desk. "I passed out. I was on duty in
engineering, and I passed out. Right on Geordi . . . Commander
LaForge. . . It really upset him. He really got pale, and that's a little
hard to do to Geordi."
Sam laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is. So he recommended you see me?"
"No, Jerry recommended I see you. He said he didn't want me falling
all over Geordi any more than was absolutely necessary." She
paused. "I'm really afraid it might be something serious."
"Well, I don't think I really need to check you over to make a
diagnosis, but maybe I'd better do it, anyway." He looked at the
instrument he had picked up. It looked fairly straightforward.
"Stand up."
Carelli stood. Sam stepped to her side and pointed the scanner at
her, depressing the button on top of it. It hummed and delivered a
series of clear readouts. He grinned. His diagnosis had been right on
the money. "Carelli," he said. "You're pregnant."
Carelli's eyes widened. "Oh, my God, you're kidding."
"No, I'm not." He showed here the scanner. "See. Right there. HGH
registering in your blood."
Carelli had tears in her eyes. Suddenly she threw her arms around
Sam, sobbing. "Oh, Bev, I didn't think it was ever going to happen."
Sam returned her hug and patted her on the back. She stepped back,
hands over her tear-streaked face. Sam could tell the sobs were
happy, rather than distraught. "Well, apparently it has. So why
don't you go back to your quarters and rest, and I'll have somebody
come by with some vitamins for you to take." He turned a knob on
the scanner and another set of readouts came up, calibrated for
pregnancy diagnosis. He scanned Carelli again. "Looks like you're
about a month and a half along.
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Well, it's not quite far enough along to tell us that. Give it another
six weeks or so."
"Oh, God. Jerry's going to be so excited."
"Now, just remember, you take it easy for a few days. I'll talk to
Captain Picard and see if we can't reduce your shift by a few hours
until the fatigue passes."
"Oh, thank you, Bev. Thank you so much."
Sam knew he was grinning like an idiot. It was times like this that
he almost wished he had continued in medicine instead of
concentrating on physics. "You're quite welcome, Carelli. If you have
any questions or any problems at all, you call me immediately."
"Yes, yes, right, of course." She backed out of the office. "I've got to
go find Jerry."
Sam watched her go. "Yeah," he said to himself. "You go find Jerry."
With her ebullience gone from the room, he felt suddenly sad. "I'm
sure he'll be real happy."
****
Beverly sat quietly while Dr. Beeks explained everything to her. She
remembered the day two weeks ago in sickbay when Captain Picard
had come in after bumping his head and her scanner had read the
wrong blood type. So that was Sam Beckett, she thought. I never
would have guessed it watching him in action.
"This man is frighteningly good at what he does," she said to Beeks.
"I know Captain Picard better than almost anyone on that ship, and I
was completely fooled."
"Well, he's been doing it for a while. And he's . . . well, he's good with
people."
"So now he's in my sickbay treating my patients."
"It's okay. He has a medical degree."
"Right. A twentieth century medical degree. That's not going to help
him much if anything serious happens."
"If anything serious happens, we can put you in direct contact with
him to talk him through it."
"Well, I guess that's better than nothing."
Beeks reached forward and patted Beverly's hand. "I know how you
feel, Dr. Crusher. But everything will be all right, I'm sure."
"You might as well call me Beverly," she said. "It looks like I'm going
to be stuck here for a while."
"And I'm Verbena."
There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Verbena said.
The door came open and a man stepped in. He was about Picard's
age, somewhat small in stature, and rather hideously dressed. He
looked worried. "Verbena," he said quietly. "I think you'd better go
see Donna."
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know, but I heard her puking in the bathroom. I bet she's
got that flu."
"Well, why don't you stay here and keep Beverly company. Beverly,
this is Al. He's not as dangerous as he looks."
"Thanks," said Al sarcastically. "Hey, Verbena."
"What?"
"Is Donna okay? I mean, did you find out why she almost passed out
last night?"
Verbena smiled a little. "She'll be fine."
Al shrugged and pulled a cigar out of his pocket. "So, Beverly. What
do you know about psychotic computers?"
****
There wasn't a great deal to do in sickbay, Sam was relieved to
discover. Three crew members came in for annual physicals, which
Sam delegated to a member of Beverly's staff. By mid morning, he
had figured out how to use most of the instruments. That done, he
poked around on the computer and pulled up Carelli's files.
Her case turned out not to be as straight forward as he had assumed.
She had suffered a miscarriage a year and a half ago, and Beverly
had made a note to watch her closely if she became pregnant again.
Sam decided he should talk to Picard about this one. He wondered if
the captain was back; Picard had been planetside during the last
leap. He tapped his communicator.
"Crusher to Captain Picard."
"Picard here," came the immediate answer.
"Captain, where are you right now?"
"I'm in my ready room. Why do you ask?"
"Never mind. Captain, I have a case here I'd like to discuss with you.
Could we talk?"
"Of course, Doctor. In fact . . . why don't you join me for dinner
tonight? I could use the company."
Sam shrugged, wondering if this was at all out of the ordinary. "That
would be fine, Captain. I'll see you then."
"Wonderful. Picard out."
"Oooo. Sounds like a hot date."
Sam jumped, startled by Al's sudden appearance. He hadn't heard
the Imaging Chamber door. "Jeez, Al, I hate it when you do that."
"Oh, sorry."
"So what's up?"
"I don't know. I think Tina's making some headway with getting the
communications systems back online. Other than that, we're getting
exactly nowhere. Gooshie can't bypass Ziggy's lock on the secondary
network, and we can't figure out why you're leaping when you do, or
why you keep leaping into people on board this ship, or if there's
anything you can do to bring things back to normal. We _do_ know
that if we don't get this straightened out real soon, we're gonna have
the government knocking at our door. There was an unexplained
blackout in Albuquerque last night, and I have a nasty feeling that
when they start investigating, they're going to come straight to Ziggy,
and we could get our funding pulled. I already gave the entire staff
the next four days off, just to keep them from nosing around."
"Wonderful. Well, start thinking up good stories. You ought to be
able to talk our way out of this."
"Yeah, maybe. Anyway, if I disappear and don't come back, you'll
know why."
Sam felt a sudden twist in his stomach. If that happened, it would
mean he would never go back home, because there would be no
accelerator to retrieve him. And there was some reason, some vitally
important reason, why he had to get back. A memory fluttered, a
butterfly trapped in birthing, and then died. He looked down at his
hands and they were gripping the computer terminal where Carelli's
file was still displayed. Gripping the terminal and shaking.
"Sam, what's wrong?"
"I just . .. I don't want to get lost out here, Al. I can't . . ." He felt his
hands tightening on the computer, felt himself becoming strangely
disconnected. "I can't leave her there with no hope I'll ever come
back . . ."
"_What_ did you say?"
Sam looked at Al. Al was looking at him as if Sam had just grown
another head. In fact, Al had gone a little white.
"What?" Sam said.
"What did you say? . . . um . .. What did you just say?" He was
backing off a little, as if possibly the question was not as important
as he'd thought. Sam paused, considering, and realized he had no
idea what he had just said.
"Never mind. Just . . . don't let them shut us down. Don't let that
happen, Al." He didn't want to get stuck out here alone. That much
he was sure of.
"Don't worry about it, Sam. They've tried it before, and we're still
going strong, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, right."
"Just . . . hang in there, Sam." He poked at the handlink, then paused.
"You sure you're all right?"
Sam waved it off. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"Okay." Al nodded decisively, and the Imaging Chamber door opened
behind him. "All right."
Sam turned away as the door closed on Al. He had been feeling very
strange ever since he'd talked to Carelli. He kept remembering Billie
Jean, the sixteen-year-old girl whose baby he had nearly given birth
to. It was perfectly logical that he would be thinking of her; what he
didn't understand was why the memory hurt so much. Perhaps it
was Beverly. He'd had stranger things happen on leaps where some
residue of the displaced had lingered to play pinball with his
synapses.
He turned off the monitor. At the door to the office, one of the other
doctors was preparing to knock. Sam opened the door and gave her
an expectant look.
"Are you leaving, Dr. Crusher?"
"Yes. I was just on my way out."
"Have a pleasant evening, then. And try to get some sleep."
Sam nodded and went on his way.
****
Beverly was pacing. Al had left about ten minutes ago, after a
confusing conversation about the computer, Ziggy, who was
apparently having a nervous breakdown. She'd had the distinct
impression that Al was trying to make a pass at her, but he'd backed
off every time she'd been about to slap him. Remembering what
Verbena had told her, she took off her insignia and turned it over.
The metallic back showed her a fragmented version of her new
reflection, and explained Al's hesitancy. She did not look herself. It
was a nice face, but more the kind of face she would like to see
looking up from the next pillow than a face she wanted to see in the
mirror.
Finally, the door opened again and Verbena returned.
"I'm sorry, Beverly," she said. "I didn't mean to be gone so long."
"It's all right. Verbena, is it absolutely necessary that I stay in this
room? I can understand keeping people isolated if they would be
overwhelmed by your technology, but I won't be, and I'd really like
some fresh air."
"Of course. In fact, maybe you could help us with Ziggy."
Beverly shook her head. "That's not really my forte. I doubt I can
help you."
"Well, then, come out and try some of Tina's chicken noodle soup."
Beverly smiled. "Now that I can handle."
The dining accommodations were quite informal. Al was leaning
against a bookshelf, eating while he pored over schematics which
were draped over a pile of books in front of him. Two other women
were sitting at a desk where they had made an attempt at a formal
place-setting.
"Come and sit at the table, Al," the blond said. She had one of those
obnoxious voices that Beverly hated and which were not always,
unfortunately, put on. She was also wearing extremely gaudy
earrings, which did not help. "You're gonna get soup all over the
pictures."
"I'm not gonna get soup on the pictures, sweetheart," Al replied. "It's
far too wonderful to waste that way."
Tina giggled. Beverly repressed an urge to slap her. "Oh, you're so
sweet, Al."
The second woman looked up as Beverly and Verbena entered. She
was more sedate in appearance and wore a look of extreme fatigue.
Her soup bowl was only half empty.
"Hi," she said quietly. "You must be Beverly." She extended her
hand. Beverly took it. It was somewhat cold, but her grip was firm.
"Yes. Although from all appearances you wouldn't be able to tell by
looking."
The woman smiled. "We're all used to that by now. I'm Donna
Alessi."
"Nice to meet you."
"I'll get you some soup," Verbena said. "And Donna, I think I told
you to eat."
"Yes, ma'am," said Donna with a wry grin.
"So," said Beverly. All eyes were on her, and she felt obliged to
speak. "You folks are having trouble with your computer?"
"Yes," Tina piped up. "He won't talk to us, and he's acting very
strange. I rewired all the circuits and pumped a power boost into
the communications cards and he's still not talking. In fact, he
burned the circuits back out again and cut the power. And singed
my eyebrows. I'm very unhappy with him."
'You talk about it like it's a person," Beverly said.
"Well, you have to know Ziggy," Tina explained. "He is just like a
person."
"This I would like to see."
Al pulled together a pile of the schematics he was looking at and
carried them over to Beverly. "Well, you can't acquaint yourself with
him right now, but here's a very detailed picture of his innards.
Look all you like. Can I have more soup, sweetums?"
"Of course, my pooky-bear."
Beverly unfolded one of the pages Al had given her. Most of the
information on it was hand-drawn, with notes in a small, hurried
hand. As she struggled to make out the words, she felt her mouth
dropping open in growing increments.
"This is incredible," she said. "If I wasn't looking right at it, I'd say it
was impossible."
Al came to look over her shoulder. "What?"
"This is one of the most advanced computer systems I've ever seen,"
Beverly said. Al stared at her as the implications of the statement
began to soak in. "It's totally beyond anything that the history books
say the 20th century was capable of. Even in the 24th century, this
is impressive."
"Well, we've always known Sam is a genius," Donna commented
quietly.
"I'd say genius is an understatement." She looked again at the
drawings, wishing she knew more about the subject. "I would love to
hear what Geordi would make of this."
"So would we," said Al. "Riker suggested that Geordi might be able to
help."
"He very well might. What are the chances you could get him here?"
"Right now, slim to none. But we might get lucky. You never can
tell." Al took his fresh bowl of soup from Tina and started toward
the door. "I'm going to go see Gooshie."
"Yeah, I'd better get back to work, too," said Tina. "Nice to meet you,
Beverly."
"Nice to meet you, Tina." Beverly mustered a smile. She thought she
might be able to warm up to the girl in time, but her first
impressions left much to be desired.
"So," Donna said. She still spoke quietly, and her eye contact was
flighty at best. "What do you do on board the Enterprise?"
"I'm the Chief Medical Officer," Beverly replied. She couldn't help but
wonder why this woman seemed so timid. "It's quite a challenging
position. There are over a thousand people on board."
Donna nodded. "That's very impressive. I take it you enjoy your
work?"
"Very much so. I find it quite fulfilling. In fact, I spent a year as the
head of Starfleet Medical and it just wasn't the same. I had to go
back to the Enterprise."
Donna smiled a little. Beverly was certain the smile held mischief.
"You didn't go back because of the captain?"
The question was surprising. "Well . . . I suppose that played some
part in it."
"Well . . ." Donna was backing off a bit. "Verbena said you'd said you
knew him better than anyone else on the ship. I thought maybe . . ."
"Oh, no." Beverly felt herself blushing. "No, we're just very good
friends." She paused. "I lost my husband some time ago. Jean-Luc
was a friend of mine and of Jack's. He's been . . . very important to
me in getting over Jack's death."
Something changed in Donna's face. "I'm sorry. I'm really very
sorry."
"It's all right," Beverly said. Donna was obviously distressed. "It's
been a few years. And I had Wesley -- my son. We went through it
together. The worst part of it was that Jack was assigned to another
ship, so we had seen so little of him before he died. That made it
particularly difficult. You always second-guess decisions like that.
Should we have taken the assignments that separated us, would it
have made any difference." Donna was watching her now as she
spoke, and Beverly noticed she was nervously winding a silver band
around her left ring finger. "But, as I said, I had Wesley. That
helped me a lot. It was like I still had something of Jack, even
though he was gone."
Donna's eyes were misting. Verbena stood up quietly.
"Donna, maybe you should get some rest."
Donna's gaze jerked to the doctor. "Yes. Yes, that would be a good
idea." She stood, looked again at Beverly. "Thank you Beverly." She
turned, then, and left the room.
Beverly looked questioningly at Verbena. "Thank you for what?
What did I do?"
"Obviously your story meant a great deal to her." Verbena hesitated.
"Donna is Sam's wife. She has been able to see, touch, and speak to
her husband once in the last four years. And as long as he's . . . out
there . . . " She made a vague motion with her hand. ". . . leaping
around through time, he has no memory of her."
"My God," Beverly murmured.
"She's been taking it surprisingly well. But the past few months have
been particularly hard. I think it was worse seeing him leave the
second time than it was the first, because this time she knew what
was coming. But she'll be all right. I think what you said to her
meant a lot."
"Well," said Beverly. She had a lump in her throat, from thinking
about Jack, wondering what it would have been like those years
when he was on the Stargazer, if he had not even remembered who
she was. "If there's anything else I can do to help her, please tell
me."
****
Sam was suffering some trepidation over his dinner with Captain
Picard. He was certain that Beverly and the captain enjoyed
something more than a formal relationship, but he had no idea how
far that relationship went. He did not relish the idea of being mauled
by Picard as he had been mauled by Lwaxana. Though somehow he
didn't think the captain was the mauling type.
Surreptitious examination of wall maps obviously posted for those
new to the ship led Sam to the captain's quarters. Picard's voice
came immediately after Sam depressed the button beside the door.
"Come."
Sam went in. The captain was folding napkins to finish off a pleasant
but not overly ornate place setting at the table in his front room. At
least there were no candles, and the lights were not dimmed. That
was a good sign. Picard was out of uniform, wearing a grey, pleated
shirt and matching trousers. Even in civvies, he had the aura of one
not to be trifled with.
"You look lovely," Picard said. He had a crisp accent which Sam had
of course been unaware of when he had occupied his aura.
"Thank you," said Sam. He had changed out of his uniform, as well,
finding a pantsuit in Beverly's closet which he did not find too
objectional. It was blue. Bevelry had a great deal of blue in her
wardrobe. Looking in the mirror at the way it drew out her eyes,
Sam understood why. "I didn't bring anything," Sam went on. "I didn't know . . ."
"Oh, nonsense. There's no need to bring anything. We're just having
something light and casual." He smiled. The smile was quite
charming. "I just didn't feel like eating alone tonight."
"Well, um, neither did I."
"Good. Now, which of these wines would you like with dinner?"
He held out two bottles to her. One was French. The other was
labeled in a language Sam had never seen before. He pointed to the
French one.
"Ah," said Picard. "Excellent choice." He uncorked the bottle expertly
and began to fill the glasses. "Have a seat, please."
Sam sat down. The food on the plate looked unfamiliar, but the
odors wafting from it were enticing. "It smells good."
Picard sat down across from him and lifted his glass. "Of course it's
good. The replicator never gets it wrong. To friendship."
"To friendship." Sam touched his glass to the captain's and took a sip.
Well, so far so good. He had a feeling he was not embroiled in any
kind of tricky romantic situation here. Thank God. He did like the
captain, so far -- but not _that_ much.
"Go ahead. Dig in," Picard encouraged.
Sam took a hesitant bite, then an eager one . "It's very good.
Congratulations to the chef."
"The best replicator in Starfleet," Picard laughed. "Now, Beverly, you
said you had a case you wanted to discuss."
"Yes, I did. It's Ensign Carelli. She's pregnant."
"Really? That's wonderful."
"Yes, she was very happy."
"I know she and Jerry suffered a great deal with the miscarriage. It still seems . . . wrong . . . that our technology can't prevent
these things."
"Yes, well, sometimes an embryo just isn't viable, and even
technology can't change that."
Picard waved that off. "I know, I know, you gave me that speech
before. In any case, I'm glad for Carelli. So what is the problem?"
"Well, due to her past miscarriage, I think it would be a good idea if
she could cut her shift back by a few hours a day, at least through
the first trimester. The scans showed that everything was
progressing normally, but I don't think it would hurt to err on the
side of caution."
"Of course, of course. She's in engineering, correct?"
"That's right."
"I'll talk to Geordi first thing in the morning. Consider it taken care
of."
"Thank you, Captain."
Picard blinked. "Captain? Why so formal, Bev?"
"Um, well . . . It just slipped out. I mean, we _were_ talking
business."
Sam's feeble attempt at an explanation was met by a good-natured
laugh. "Right." He sobered suddenly. He took a long sip at his wine,
then sat back, eyes a little vacant.
"What's wrong . . . Jean-Luc?" Sam ventured.
Picard shook his head. "It's just . . . " He straightened in his chair.
"You know I've never been comfortable with the idea of children on
this ship. Or for that matter, in my life." He paused, as if waiting for
a response. Sam nodded. "But then there was Kataan, the probe,
Eline."
Sam had not the vaguest idea what he was talking about. But Picard
had stopped again, and was distant, obviously in need of prodding.
"It affected you deeply," Sam said. A fair guess, by the expression on
the captain's face.
"I lived a lifetime there, Bev. I had a wife, I had children,
grandchildren . . . It just hasn't been the same since." His hand closed
tighter on the wineglass, then he put it down and reached across the
table to take Sam's hands in his. "Every time I see a child, I think of
Meribor, and Batai. I think of Eline. I think of what my life could be
like if I . . . if I allowed myself to be that person again. And I think
about what my life will be like if I don't."
"You want to have a family."
"I never thought I did. I never thought I needed children. But now
. . ." He sat back, releasing Sam's hands. "Now I'm not so sure."
Sam felt decidedly uncomfortable. He had a feeling there was a
decision coming, and it was not one he wanted to make for Beverly.
"Why do you tell me all this?"
Picard looked at him, then smiled. "Because I don't know who else to
tell. You're the only one I know who would sit there and listen, and
pass no judgement." He stood abruptly. "I think we need some
music. Don't you?"
Sam breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Yes. Yes, music would be nice."
Sam spent the rest of the evening listening to Bach and Mozart, and
to Picard as he talked. Apparently the man had a great deal on his
mind, and Beverly was an often-used sounding board. A friendship,
indeed, and an important one. By the time Sam returned to Beverly's
quarters, he was emotionally drained. Picard had spoken again and
again of his Kataan experience -- which reminded Sam very much of
a leap, once he had pieced together what had happened -- and the
thoughts he had voiced had left Sam troubled. He again felt
inexplicably sad as he pulled the blankets over him. And when he
finally fell asleep, he dreamed he was a baby, rocked in the arms of a
woman whose face he knew, but whose name he could not
remember.
****
He woke abruptly. He was surrounded by darkness, though he had
left a light on in the washroom. Something had changed. He couldn't
make out what it was through the bleariness of his sudden
awakening. He turned, putting his feet on the floor. Then he realized
what was different.
He was wearing a nightgown. He'd gone to sleep in the buff, not
quite having the nerve to wear one of Beverly's gowns, but now he
felt the soft texture of silk against his skin.
"I must have leaped," he mumbled. He didn't recall ever having
leaped in his sleep before. He rubbed at his eyes. The darkness
around him was complete. Carefully, he felt through the air until his
hand touched the edge of a night table. Walking his fingers across its
surface, he found a mug and, next to it, a switch. He depressed the
switch and the bedside lamp came on.
The room looked very much like the one he had just left. So he was
still on board the Enterprise. At this point, he wasn't surprised. He
picked up the mug. Crusted on the inside was the dregs of what
looked like hot chocolate. Looking down at himself, he verified that
he was, indeed, wearing a light, silky neglige.
Well. If this room was laid out the same as Beverly's, the mirror
would be in the alcove just across from the bed. He got up and
walked over to it.
He knew the face. Of course he did. By now he knew them all. But
he was not certain exactly how to react to the sight of the tumble of
dark ringlets and the black, black eyes looking back at him. The first
thought that struck him was that he had never before been someone
he had kissed. He sighed. "This is getting weirder all the time."