by Catherine Ellis
Picard's funeral took place three days later in his home village of Labarre. It was a small private affair, only thirty people. The friends who had come to celebrate a marriage came instead to pay their respects. Amongst the Enterprise crew only Data, Geordie and O'Brien were able to attend.
Beverly didn't cry or show emotion; absolute stoicism was her only means of defence against the torrent of grief that threatened to overwhelm her. Since viewing his body she had been unable to bring herself to return to their apartment. The thought of seeing his things or, worse still, sleeping in their bed without him was more than she could bear. At the wake she was polite to the guests but distant. When Geordie tried to touch her she evaded his grasp and excused herself. The only company she could tolerate was Data's; whenever she could she stood next to him and held on to his strong arm.
"Has she shown any emotion?" Geordie asked one of her colleagues.
"None that I've seen, she's been like ice ever since he died. I'm worried she's going to crack if she doesn't let go soon."
It was a concern they all shared. Few could bear to look at the taught neck or the sunken eyes that hadn't slept for days.
"Dr Crusher may I offer my condolences?" Admiral Nechayev was one of the few brave enough to approach. She was there as the official Starfleet representative but also in a personal capacity.
"Thank you Admiral, and thank you for coming, I know Jean-Luc ..." Beverly couldn’t finish the sentence.
"Captain Picard was one of our most respected officers." Nechayev continued. "Starfleet would like to hold a memorial service in his honour. I was thinking of a couple of months from now."
Time enough for me to recover? Beverly couldn’t cope with such consideration from the normally insensitive admiral. A slight nod of agreement was all she could manage in response.
Soon after Geordie suggested to Data that Beverly looked exhausted and he should take here somewhere where she could rest. When the pair of them had left the other guests glanced guiltily at each other and breathed a sigh of relief. They were grateful to the android for taking her away. With Beverly gone they at last felt free to talk about Picard, to swap fond memories, to celebrate his life and not just mourn his death.
The following day an earthquake hit the colony at Darlang. The disaster offered Beverly exactly the distraction she needed - challenging purposeful work which would fill her days and leave her with neither time or the energy to grieve. Within 36 hours she was aboard the USS Hood on her way to the stricken colony. Starfleet had put her in charge of a 40 strong emergency medical team. The three day journey was spent converting the cargo bays into receiving areas and preparing themselves for the hundreds of patients they had been told to expect.
The warnings proved all too correct. For eight days her sickbay was filled with a constant stream of badly wounded colonists. When the flow finally dried up, the rehabilitation work began - attaching artificial limbs to once whole bodies and teaching the patients how to control them. The Darlani impressed Beverly greatly. Hardy, resourceful and with a strong sense of community, they reminded her of the colonists with whom she had grown up. Living amongst their pain and anguish it was easy to avoid thinking of her own loss. If her medical colleagues knew of her torment then they kept it to themselves. It was a full 6 weeks into her secondment before Picard's name even came up. It happened when she was sitting with the others catching-up on missed news reports. An item appeared about his death. It described his family background and career in some detail, but through it mentioned many of the senior officers with whom he had worked there was no reference to her.
Two days!
If he had lived just two days longer she would have been recognised as playing a unique role in his life. As it was history would see her as just one of his long time colleagues, a title that many Starfleet officers could claimed. Crusher sighed, rose to her feet and excused herself. The obituary item had been unsettling but also helpful in a way, it had got her over the hurdle of viewing his image. Back in her quarters she sat down at the console and called up her personal collection of pictures. Still shots to begin with, photographs taken in private moments – their first holiday together, rehearsing for a play she'd persuaded him to act in, the awful birthday cake he had cooked her just 9 months ago, Jean-Luc asleep in their bed. She took a deep breath and stroked a finger across the screen.
Too soon, it ended too soon.
Feeling stronger she sought out a moving image, one she had recorded two years before at an archaeological conference. She set it running and lay down on her bunk to watch. Her chest tightened at the sight of him nervously approaching the podium to read his paper. Her brave captain would rather have faced a Romulan battle-cruiser than address this audience of academics. As he spoke she noticed the familiar mannerisms - a turn of the head, a hand gesture, a choice of words. She remembered how proud she had been of him as he gradually captivated his audience.
The recording continued heading for the point she knew would come, the moment he would turn towards her and smile. The moment came and so did her tears. Shaking and sobbing helplessly she gave up the battle for self-control. The grief she had been bottling up for weeks came pouring out in one unrestrained flood. Hugging a pillow she called his name and cried herself, exhausted, to sleep.
After 8 weeks the relief operation on Darlang was wound down. Beverly was ordered back to Earth and told to report to Starfleet Medical to discuss her next posting. She didn’t mind not returning to her previous job; it was time for something new and her colleagues were quite capable of continuing the project without her.
As for returning home to their apartment she felt ready to face that too, or at least that's what she'd told herself as she approached the front door. Once it had opened she wasn't so certain. Jean-Luc's jacket lay on the sofa, next to the book he'd been reading, the book he never finished. She averted her eyes and ignoring everything else that was his, made a quick dash to the kitchen. There she dumped her bag in a corner and busied herself getting something to eat. The vegetable soup tasted so good and the view out the window had never been so compelling, but neither could banished the ghost lurking on the other side of the kitchen door.
"You've got to face it Beverly." She took three deep breathes and walked back into the living room.
The room was empty, just a space filled with memories. Moving quickly she picked up his book and jacket and hid them away in the nearest cupboard. After that she did the same thing in every room, hiding all his personal belongings out of sight. It wasn't cowardice, she told herself, it was taking one step at a time. Today she would cope with being in the apartment, tomorrow she would deal with his things.
With his ghost now under control, she sat down at the computer console and skimmed through the backlog of messages she'd allowed to accumulate while she'd been at Darlang. There were three from the Will Depository reminding her that she was Picard’s executor and asking her to access his will. Not today. Another message was from Wesley,
"Hey Mom! That's great news." He began.
She was thrown for a moment till she saw the transmission date. It was written before Jean-Luc's death and he was talking of their planned marriage. Communications with the Gamma Quadrant were so unreliable it might be weeks before he heard what had happened. Beverly closed down his message without reading the rest. As for the remaining messages she could guess what they were –messages of condolences from close friends, the ones who knew she was more than Picard's doctor.
She turned off the console and looked around. The place was empty and silent. After weeks of almost constant activity it was unsettling not to have anything to do – there were no patients to look after, no staff to manage, no records to write up. Nothing but the space where he should be.
"A walk, Beverly. That's what you need. A walk."
It was easier outside. Striding briskly she took a route she'd rarely taken with Jean-Luc. Up the hill that was too steep for him, over to the view point he had never visited. This is how it must be from now on, she told herself. I must make a new life. There was no child to care for this time, as there had been with Jack. No routine that had to be continued. She would have her memories but she mustn't live in them.
"Move on Beverly, move on."
Back in the apartment she showered and prepared herself for bed – in the guest bedroom. Tomorrow she would start looking for a new apartment.
In the lobby of Starfleet Medical she was met by an assistant.
"Admiral Kent apologises but he wouldn't be able to see you until 11:30. In the meantime there's a task he would like you to do for him."
The man led Beverly into an office where he explained that 15 posts needed to be filled on three of the new medical ships. Kent wanted her to sift through the applicants and make recommendations on who should be selected and for which ship. Having explained how to access the candidates' personnel records he left her to get on with it.
The task wasn’t as mundane as she had first feared. The Medical ships would be small communities so an ability to get along with your colleagues would be an essential requirement. Armed with the information from their staff appraisals, Beverly set about weeding out all the individuals who should never be posted on anything smaller than a Galaxy class ship. Next she identified the thrusters-organiser types and distributed them amongst different teams. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn't notice she was no longer alone.
"Having fun?" A deep familiar voice made her jump. Admiral Kent was standing right behind her.
"Yes thank you Admiral. It’s surprisingly interesting."
A large, muscular man, she had always found Kent's presence reassuring.
"Have you seen anybody you’d want to work with?" He asked.
"I have actually, quite a few."
"Would you like me to assign them to your ship?"
"My ship?"
"Your ship – the Pasteur. She’ll be ready for service in 3 months and we want you to be her captain."
Beverly was speechless.
"Are you interested?"
"Yes! Definitely!".
"You'll have to retake the bridge command test before your appointment can be ratified. We've had a few cases recently of desk-jockeys being given ships and not remembering how to command a bridge. Since last month anyone who's been land based for more than two years has to retake the test before being appointed to a starship command post. You're only three weeks over the limit, but I'm sorry I can't make exceptions."
"That's all right Admiral, I understand and I know I'll also have to pass the physical examination for captains aged over 60."
Kent chuckled. "If I remember rightly, that particular test was your idea."
"And a very good one if I might say so. It gives certain captains reason to listen to their doctors for a change." She let out a snort of laughter as she remembered some of the officers her test had upset. "However, to get back to the bridge examination, how long do I have to revise?"
"Just three weeks; it's changed a fair bit since you last took it so don't take anything for granted. I hope you don't mind, but I asked Lieutenant Shevchenko to prepare some training material for you. He is office is in D-wing."
Beverly wanted celebrated her promotion with her friends from the research institute, but daren't tempt fate.
Pass the bridge test first, then tell everyone you've got a ship!
Fortunately there was someone she could tell without risk of him letting on - Data. She called him up and arranged to meet him at 18:00.
In the event she was met at the Science Block door by one of his colleagues.
"Data asked me to tell you he will be 15 minutes late. He's had to go over to the gravimetrical laboratory, they needed his help urgently. If you want to wait for him, he suggested you might like to visit the new roof garden on the top of this building. The view across the Bay is quite spectacular."
Beverly thanked the woman and headed down corridor towards the lift. She guessed Data had recommended the roof garden because he'd realised she may not want to wait in his laboratory - the place where Jean-Luc had died. He was right there, she did feel uneasy at the thought of revisiting the room. And yet? Wasn't it better to face these things? To get it over with? And wouldn't she rather face the room without an audience?
Turning on her heel, she retraced her steps and head for Data's laboratory. While Jean-Luc was alive the android had given her voice security access to the room, perhaps it still worked.
It did. The slid open revealing a scene unnervingly similar to that last fateful day - the lights were dim and as before the temperature was on the cold side. When the door shut behind her she jumped, then laughed at her own nervousness.
It's only a room, Beverly, just an empty room.
"Computer raise the lights."
On the central table were three devices that looked like holo-emmiters. She forced herself to look pass them to the bunk bed on the far wall.
What she saw made her jump.
A white sheet was draped over a shape that was almost certainly a body. She stared at it for several seconds, trying to think up a rational explanation.
None came to mind.
The shape unnerved her; until she knew what it was she could never feel comfortable in this room. Striding over purposely, she took hold of the sheet and pulled it back.
A strangled cry escaped her mouth.
She tried to replace the sheet but it slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. Badly shaken she stepped back, heart thumping.
On the bunk bed a Jean-Luc figure lay as motionless as a dummy in a display window. Its appearance was of a younger fitter Picard, similar to Luke his holographic double.
Data must be experimenting with a new kind of hologram. She told herself.
But why make it look so like Jean-Luc?
Feeling braver, she moved closer.
"Does he miss you?" She asked the figure. "Does he find comfort in your company?"
She put out a hand and dared to touch its forehead. It felt like human skin but lacked the warmth of a live body. No longer frightened, she studied it closely. Its appearance was how she wanted to remember Jean-Luc – strong, tanned, handsome - not the sad grey shell of 8 weeks before. She stroked her hand slowly across the top of its head, then, on sudden impulse, she leant forward and kissed it tenderly on the lips.
"Goodbye my love." She whispered.
A tear fell from her face and landed on its cheek; as she brushed it away the figure stirred and opened its eyes.
"Beverly!" He beamed, "When did you get back?"
She jumped back and froze in terror. As she looked on the figure rose carefully to its feet, just as the sick Picard would have done. It wasn't until it was fully erect that it saw her terrified expression.
"Beverly?" He asked with deep concern. "What's wrong?"
"Computer end program! End program!"
"Beverly? What are you doing? We're not on the holodeck."
He stepped towards her with hands outstretched - they were strong supple hands, the kind Picard hadn't possessed for years. The figure caught sight of them and stopped. Baffled he stared at them, then felt his face.
"What’s happened? Is this my real body? Am I cured!" His voice sounded ecstatic.
She tried to speak but nothing came out.
She tried again.
"You're dead! You're dead! You died 8 weeks ago." She was almost screaming.
The figure paused, then spoke calmly. "No. This is a joke, some ghastly game of Q's. Q! Q!" He bellowed. "Show your self. End this charade NOW!."
"It’s not a joke." She shouted back. "This is real."
At that moment the door opened and Data walked in. For a brief moment he was as shocked as Beverly, then a beam of delight crossed his face.
"Dr Crusher, how did you manage to activate him?"
"I don't know!" She yelled. "Just turn it off! Turn it off!" As she spoke she edged towards the door.
"He has never been activated before," Data replied, "I do not know how to 'de-active him'."
"Then destroy it! Anything! Just get rid of it!"
With those words she rushed from the room, Jean-Luc's cries of "Beverly! Beverly!" echoing after her.
When the door had shut, Picard turned on the android.
"What the hell's going on? Why does Beverly think I'm dead?"
"She believes that is the case because your human body died 8 weeks ago. What you inhabit now is an artificial body into which I have transferred your memories."
The revelation hit Picard like a blow. For several seconds he stood stunned and motionless.
"I died? How? When?"
"What is the last thing you remember?"
"We were doing an experiment. I wanted to try out the idea Doc had heard about - removing viruses with a two stage transporter technique. We had completed the first transport and I laid down to rest while you and Doc reprogrammed the bio-filters."
"That is correct. When we finished, we put you through the transporter again without waking you. It was that second transport that caused your death."
Picard swallowed. "My death! What happened?"
"We made a mistake, we didn't allow for how rapidly your body was deteriorating between the two transports. As a result we filtered out the Borg nanoprobes in your body rather than the disease. Later we discovered that it was those nanoprobes that had been keeping you alive. Without them to help you fight the disease your body quickly succumbed. You died 7 minutes later from a brain haemorrhage."
Picard held his head, as if imagining the moment. "I don't remember dying."
"That is because your memory was captured during the second transport, before your body died. I managed to recover that part of the transport buffer and keep it intact until I created the body you now inhabit."
The being looked down at his hands and rubbed his finger tips together.
"It feels so real, are you sure I'm not human?"
The android picked up a tricorder and scanned him. "Here see for yourself."
As Picard studied the results, Data looked on. He felt elated at his achievement yet concerned at the same time. He had brought his friend back to life, but Picard did not seem pleased.
"Data?"
"Yes Sir?"
"Barring accidents - how long will this new body live?"
"I do not know?"
"Then don't you think we'd better find out?"
---
Beverly shut the apartment door and lent back against the wall. Her heart was thumping and her right arm shaking in shock. She grabbed the wrist and held it tightly against her. Then shutting her eyes she took slow deliberate breathes.
"One . . . two . . . three …"
Her mind refused to relax, it kept reliving the images she had just witnessed - the Picard hologram coming awake . . . talking to her . . . coming towards her . . reaching out to her! It was all frighteningly real, ... like talking to the dead. Opening her eyes she shook her head and forced the thoughts aside.
"Don't think about it, find something to do! Anything!"
The bridge command training material was the first thing to come to mind. She found the memory chip Shevchenko's assistant had given her and plugged it into the computer.
Were to start? Navigation? Propulsion? Emergency Situations? She plumped for the latter.
'Procedures to follow in the event of an imminent warp core breech' Beverly read carefully though the text, noting the changes since she had last taken the test.
---
"Your body is composed of a mixture of Borg nanoprobes and millions of medical nanites. Your power source is light."
"That's the same components we were experimenting with for Lal's new body."
"Yes Sir, that is were I got the idea."
"And how long will I live? A year? Twenty? Fifty?"
"More in the region of 600."
Picard's jaw dropped. "Six hundred years!"
"Give or take 30."
"Six hundred years." The answer obviously upset him. He sat down and covered his face with his hands.
"Sir?"
Picard lowered his hands and looked at him. "I'm human Data, I'm mortal, humans are supposed to die. Why did you bring me back to life?"
The android looked away. The output from his emotion chip was threatening to overwhelm his reasoning powers.
"We spent many months together, you and I, trying to bring Lal back to life. When my mistake hastened your death I began to wonder whether society would be better served if I returned you to life rather than my daughter. I was intending to consult Dr Crusher first, but she came across your new body by accident and somehow managed to activate you."
"So my 'birth' was an accident." He gave a hollow laugh. "Well at least that's something I have in common with other humans." He took a deep breath. "This isn't right Data. I can't continue to exist. You will have to 'de-activate' me."
"Do you mean you wish to die?" Data was having difficulty hiding his dismay.
"I have to. Don't you see? Imagine the reaction when news gets out that I have been brought back to life? . . . Soon there will be hundreds hammering on your door insisting you do the same for them or their sick relative, but there will also be a public outcry of opposition. Human society rejected genetic engineering, I'm sure it won't want a cadre of artificial super humans who might live for centuries."
"The potential number of such beings is small. I could only bring back to life someone who has been infected with Borg nanoprobes. They are an essential part of your construction."
"You mean I only get to live so long because I was assimilated by the Borg!" Picard sprang to his feet. "That makes it worse, Data. Think of the thousands who were killed at Wolf 359 by Locutus. How could I face their relatives? It's not right for me to be singled out for longevity in this way. I need to die again, and quickly. Before anyone knows I'm alive."
"Dr Crusher knows."
Picard stopped and winced.
"She thinks I'm a hologram, I gave her a dreadful shock but she's strong, she'll get over it."
"She is an intelligent woman. I am sure she will soon realise that you are not a hologram. She will also remember that she told me to 'Get rid of you'. If I destroy you now, will she not think that she is to blame?"
Picard shut his eyes. "Please no!… There is no alternative Data, I have to die."
"And Dr Crusher? Does she not deserve an explanation, and the chance to see you one more time?"
---
Beverly turned to the next section.
Navigation: The ship's position should be checked against a Starfleet buoy at least once every 30 days.
'Am I cured? '
The hologram's words suddenly intruded on her thoughts.
'We're not on the holodeck.'
Strange. He was more self aware than any hologram she had met before. More even than Moriarty.
A doubt began to form in her mind.
Would Data really carry authenticity to the extent of programming it to believe it had been ill?
More memories from those chaotic minutes in the laboratory started to come back to her. She remembered Data's words when he entered the lab.
'Dr Crusher, how did you manage to activate him?'
And later. . .
' I do not know how to 'de-active him'.
THIS WAS NO HOLOGRAM!
"He's alive!"
Her heart raced, but this time with joy. As she rushed towards the door, the chime sounded.
"Data!" She grabbed him in her excitement. "That isn't a hologram is it? He's alive! Tell me he's alive!"
"If you mean the being in the laboratory, then yes; he is as much alive as I am. He has Picard's memories but an artificial body. "
It was what she wanted to hear, but something in his manner alarmed her.
"What's wrong Data? Is his body unstable? Is he going to die soon, like Lal?"
Data braced himself to give her the bad news. "He does not believe it is right for him to be brought back to life. He wishes to be de-activated.."
Beverly stared at him, open mouthed.
"No! No! He can't want that! I can't lose him all over again! He mustn't die. Why have you left him alone? He might destroy himself."
"He promised he would not do so until after I had given you this message." He placed a PADD in her hand. "It explains his reasoning."
Beverly took the PADD reluctantly, she was afraid to learn what it might say.
"Do you wish to read it alone?" Data asked.
"Please."
The android remained in the living room while she stepped out onto the balcony. From there she could see the Science Block. In her imagination she pictured Picard, staring at a wall trying not to think of anything, trying not to exist. She braced herself for what he had to say and turned on the device.
The message was written rather than spoken, she was grateful for that. Listening to his voice would have made it impossible to think rationally.
My dearest Beverly,
Data will have told you of my decision. This isn't just a personal issue, I have to consider the wider social implications. Humans are mortal, when our bodies die so do we. It isn't right for me to have a new body, one that might enable me to live for hundreds of years. I don't deserve such special treatment and I don't want it. The older generation should die and give way to the next,
Death has always been the great leveller in human society. Everyone, however rich, powerful or brilliant they are is equal in its face. We are all "brought to dust". For one person to be singled out for longevity is divisive. Imagine the reaction if news leaked out of my "resurrection"? Thousands, if not millions, would be jealous of my good fortune - parents whose children had died before they had a chance to live, the sick reluctantly facing death, anyone who felt a normal life span was not long enough. Data tells me my current existence is only possible because of my Borg assimilation. This won't stop others trying to emulate me, I'm sure the desperate will infect themselves with nanoprobes. Data would be inundated with pleas to do the same for them.
Longevity is not the only thing that is different about me. I'm also stronger and faster and capable of mental feats that are beyond any human body. If we start creating a group of "super" beings humans then I fear they will demand positions of authority and not want to share them with "lesser" beings. Sixty years ago humanity rejected the use of genetic engineering to create super-humans, I'm sure – I hope – that they will reject beings like me.
I know that my decision will cause you pain, it will seem as if I am turning my back on a chance for us to be together. Please don't think of it in that way. I want to be with you. If I could find a morally acceptable way then I would. I'd gladly revert to being a sick old man if it meant I could spend just a few more hours in your arms. But it’s not possible Beverly; I should not exist any more. I am an aberration. The sooner I’m terminated the better. Please don't try to see me, it would only make things harder for both of us. Think of me as already dead – as the true Picard already is. Move on, make yourself a new life, allow someone else to love as I'm sure they will. And if by chance that doesn’t happen then know this – that you are and have been loved. You have been the love of my life.
I've lived a long life and my time has come. Don't try to keep me here like some ghost trapped between this world and whatever comes next. I should follow my parents, my brother, my nephew into that last unknown adventure. Let me go now, let me rest.
Her throat tightened and the tears welled up behind her eyes.
"No! No! Don’t leave me."
Any small doubts she had had over whether he was truly Jean-Luc were now dispelled. The words, the sentiment, the logic - they were all his.
He was alive again! … but wanted to die.
The pain was unbearable, if he insisted on ending it all then so would she. . . Only how could she? She had a child.
"Doctor?" Data called softly. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
She wiped her face and returned to the living room.
"Do you wish me to give him a message?" He asked.
"What could I say to him that would make him change his mind?"
"I do not know." The android was obviously upset.
"Then try harder." She snapped. " Damn it! This is no time to indulge your emotions. Turn your chip off and help me! You recreated him, surely you had a reason. Help me persuade him."
"I have tried, but he is convinced his termination is the correct course of action."
"Then we must find a flaw in his argument. I need time, time to think. . . . Data, you must convince him not to act immediately. Tell him I want to write to him. Tell him that I will accept his death but only after he has heard from me. Now hurry."
Data returned to the laboratory and called her soon after.
"He will wait for your message, but only for 24 hours. He will not delay any longer. The risk of being discovered is too high."
"If that is all I have . . . then it will have to do."
End of Chapter 19.