Subject: Aftershock, part (1/8?)
From: [email-masked] (Tinuviel)
Date: 13 Feb 1995 00:41:54 GMT
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative

Hi all!
	This is my very first story posted to a newsgroup, so I
hope I get it right.  It seems to me to be the logical follow-up
to such stories as _The Nexus_ by Virginia Boehn and _To Every
Purpose_ by Melissa Wilson.  If you haven't read them, do it.
They're a lot of fun, and if you don't this might not make any
sense.
	A word of warning:  if you're not a Hopeless Romantic, 
DON'T READ THIS.  There's very little plot, and I left the actual
mission of the _Enterprise-E_ suitably vauge to minimize the 
amount of this that will be rendered non-canon when STVIII comes
out.  In the meantime, happy reading.

	Standard disclaimer:  Paramount owns everything, everyone,
and everyplace in this story lock, stock and barrel.  The story 
itself, for good or ill, is mine.

**************

                            AFTERSHOCK
copyright Amy Raduege, 1995

     "Jean-Luc, she's beautiful."
     Captain Jean-Luc Picard, commanding officer of the U.S.S.
_Enterprise_-E, smiled.  Beyond the shuttle windows, the Nova-class
ship was just coming into full view, sweeping away from them with
an elegant grace that delighted him.
     Beside him, Dr. Beverly Crusher was smiling happily. 
Unconsciously, she slipped her hand into his, her lustrous blue
eyes never leaving their new ship.
     Picard squeezed her fingers, trying to contain his own
happiness.  Things had turned out better than he had ever dared
hope.  The court-marshal proceedings had gone well; everyone had
agreed that his crew had done everything humanly possible to save
the ship, in light of the circumstances.  The __Enterprise__ was his
again, along with her now-highly-coveted command crew.  Will Riker
had been offered command of the _Aspire_, another newly-commissioned
ship, but had turned it down to remain with the _Enterprise_.  Again. 
Commanders Data and Troi had received special accommodation for
their combined efforts to save the ship.  Worf, too, had been
honored.  And Beverly...
     Jean-Luc's smile turned toward the lovely woman standing
beside him.  Things had worked out especially well with Beverly.
	He squeezed her fingers again, thinking of their delicate 
touch on his face, his back, his chest...
     "Isn't she lovely?" his chief medical officer asked, her eyes
filled with the wonder of their new ship.
     "Very," he agreed, not taking his eyes off her face.
     Her eyes flickered toward him and away again, a small, pleased
small tugging at her lips.  "Jean-Luc, we have a christening
ceremony to attend."
     He glanced quickly around the shuttlecraft, but Admiral
Nechayev had gone into the aft compartment, and the pilot was much
too preoccupied with her guidance systems to pay any attention to the
two officers standing in the main cabin.  
     "So we'd better make the most of the time we have," he said,
brushing her cheek with his finger.  Gently, he bent and kissed
her, savoring the sweet taste of her lips, the warmth of her body
beside his.  When they parted, he smiled into her eyes, then turned
toward the windows again.  "Now, Doctor, none of that," he said
playfully.  "We can't have the Admiral getting suspicious."
     "Why the hell not?" she asked mischievously, her fingers
brushing lightly against his uniform.  Then, perhaps sensing his
sudden alarm - Beverly could be difficult when she had a mind to be
- she sighed.  "Aye, sir," she said impudently, and then her gaze
turned toward the ship.
     In companionable silence, they drifted toward their new home.

     "Commanding officer, _Enterprise_, arriving."  Will Riker called
the skeleton crew to order as Captain Picard and Dr. Beverly
Crusher disembarked from the shuttlecraft.  It was a tradition as
old as water for the Captain to give a speech upon taking command,
and this occasion was no exception.  Captain Picard was prepared. 
His speech was short, brilliant, and to the point.
     "We have a galaxy to explore, ladies and gentlemen.  Let's get
to work."
     The First Officer fell into step beside his captain as the two
of them left the docking bay.  Dr. Crusher and Counselor Troi
followed.
     "How was France, sir?" Riker asked gently.  He hadn't had the
chance to ask before, with the court-marshal proceedings and all. 
"Did you and Dr. Crusher get all your family's affairs in order?"
     For a moment, the Captain's face looked wistful.  "It was a
mixed blessing, Number One."
     Riker nodded understandingly, wishing he could offer some comfort.
     "Home is the best place to lay an old life aside, Captain,"
said Deanna from behind them.  She linked her arm fondly with
Beverly's.  "And the best place to begin a new one."
     Riker grinned back at her.  Trust Deanna to say the perfect
thing.

     "Well, I suppose you'd all like to know where we're going,"
Picard said.  He made some attempt to hide his distaste from his
crew, knowing that they would be no more pleased than he.  They had
a new ship, an entire galaxy to explore, and -  "Our first mission
is, I regret to say, diplomatic.  We're to travel to Starbase 39-
Sierra, where a delegation of bureaucrats is waiting."  He paused 
again, weighing the consequences of his next
statement.  "It seems the Federation wants to show off its new
ship."
     "You can hardly blame them, Captain," said Deanna Troi,
comfortingly.  "She is beautiful.  Definitely something to be proud
of."
     Picard smiled ruefully.  "I recognize the importance of the
mission, Counselor.  I just hope something exciting happens along
the way."

     "Captain on the bridge," the young ensign announced as the
command crew left the new lounge.
     "You don't need to announce that so regularly, ensign," Picard
said to her.  "Everyone can see that I'm here."
     She stiffened slightly under the perceived reprimand.  "It's
in the regulations, sir."
     He sighed.  "One thing I've learned, ensign, is that you can't
always live by the regulations.  They can limit you."  He looked
thoughtfully at her, but her seagreen eyes gave no hint that she'd
received the lesson.  "Lay in a course for Starbase 39-Sierra, warp
4.8," he ordered, heading for his chair.
     "Aye, sir."  
     He settled in, shifting uncomfortably - these new chairs were
unfamiliar.  His eyes swept the lines of the new bridge, clean and
elegant, the pride of Starfleet technology - and not yet home.  For
a brief moment, just the briefest of moments, he longed for his old
ship.  But such longings were futile, and he pushed them aside.
     "Engage."  

     "You've briefed your command crew by now?" the
Admiral asked.
     "I have, sir."  He kept his voice carefully neutral.
     A wry twist came to Alynna Nechayev's lips.  "I take it they
were almost as pleased as you."
     "You might say that."
     The Admiral sighed.  "All right, Captain.  Time to lay the
cards on the table.  There's another reason we're sending you to
Starbase 39-Sierra - one that doesn't have anything to do with
diplomatic tours."
     "Really?"  He raised a skeptical eyebrow.
     Admiral Nechayev's narrow face narrowed even more.  "Yes. 
We've detected some unexplained activity across the Neutral Zone. 
Starfleet Intelligence suspects that the Romulans are developing a
new weapon."
     "I see."  He leaned back against his chair, considering. 
"Have I permission to tell my command crew?"
     "Not unless it becomes necessary.  For all they or anybody
else knows, you're simply touring the quadrant, showing off our
finest.  And nobody had better suspect otherwise, or things could
turn ugly.  Nechayev out."

     "How are the diagnostics coming, Geordi?" Data asked
cheerfully.
     "Fine, Data," the chief engineer answered, putting down the
diagnostic indicator.  "I can't believe some of the upgrades we've
got.  Looks like Leah's been working overtime on that new warp
engine.  I feel like a kid at Christmas."
     "Captain Picard seems pleased with the new ship, as well,"
Data observed.  
     "What about you?"  Geordi asked.
     Data paused, looking wistfully about the vast area of
engineering.  "It is a beautiful ship, but - I find I miss the old
_Enterprise_.  She was, after all, home for seven years."
     Geordi sighed.  "Me, too, buddy.  Me too."

     "That was lovely," Beverly said, pushing her empty plate
aside.  "I love saltimbocca, but you knew that, didn't you?"
     "Of course."  He left the table to pour her some more wine,
then took her hands and led her to the couch.  "As Captain, it's my
job to know all the intimate details of my crew."
     She raised a skeptical eyebrow.  "*All* of them, Captain?  Why,
it's only been a few wee-"
     "Worf to Captain Picard."
     Jean-Luc rolled his eyes.  "Yes, Mr. Worf?"
     "We're receiving a distress call from Bett'au VII, sir.  It's
coded priority one."
     He glanced at Beverly, saw the concern rising in her eyes. 
"On my way, Mr. Worf."

     "Req...<crackle>  major ear<crackle>qua..." 
     Picard and his officers looked at one another in concern,
trying desperately to understand the garbled message through the
static.
     "thousands <static> casu..."
     "Mr. Data, can you make anything out of this mess?" the
Captain snapped.  It took a deliberate effort not to look at his
chief medical officer.
     "I can extrapolate, sir.  It seems that Bett'au
VII has been hit by a major earthquake, resulting in significant
casualties."
     This time, duty required him to look at his chief surgeon.  He
knew her too well not to see the memories rising to the surface, to
ignore the sudden pain in her eyes.  "Is there any ship closer than
we are?" he asked Data.
     The android shook his head.  "No, sir."
     "I see."  Briefly, he weighed the possibilities, the
consequences of inconveniencing a handful of Federation dignitaries
versus the importance of saving a planet.  It took maybe half a
second.  "Commander, lay in a course to Bett'au VII, warp 5."
     "Aye, sir."
     As the other officers left the new observation lounge, Beverly
raised her stricken eyes to him.  "What was that you were saying
about hoping something exciting would happen?" she asked, trying to
make light of the situation.
     He grunted. 
     "Be careful what you wish for.  You might get it."

Captain's Log, stardate 48952.7.  The damage to Bett'au VII has
proven far worse than any of us imagined.  The tremors were caused
by a sudden shift in the planet's orbit, something so completely
unexpected that no one quite knows what to make of it.  Geordi and
Data are trying to assess the extent of the damage, and to
determine if the newly-formed colony will have to be moved yet
again.  The medical teams are working overtime, trying to combat
thousands of major injuries as well as the outbreaks of plague,
psychosis, and poor sanitary conditions that are the inevitable
consequences of such a disaster.

     "Damn."
     Dr. Beverly Crusher pressed her hand against her forehead,
willing the dizziness and nausea to go away.  Three of her staff
had become sick already, despite the fact that she'd inoculated
them against everything she could think of.  And in the meantime,
there were hundreds of wounded to be tended, sanitary systems to be
reestablished, medical supplies to be replenished:  all matters
easily attended to if proper facilities were available.
     Beverly knew from first-hand experience what could happen when
those facilities were not available.  
     She passed a weary hand before her eyes and forced herself
back to normal.  She mustn't let the others see she was becoming
sick, or Jean-Luc would pull her off the planet, and Beverly wanted
desperately to tend these final cases herself.
     She smiled at the thought of the captain.  Dear, sweet Jean-
Luc, to know her own memories of Arvada III would surface at the
mention of disaster.  He'd instantly understood her need to be
there, taking care of the suffering colonists.  He'd even come to
her quarters later, to be sure she was all right.  She'd been
pacing her rooms, anxious to arrive, and knowing that the
_Enterprise_ could go no faster than the Federation-wide Warp 5
limit.  Jean-Luc had taken her into his arms, soothing away her
nervous anxiety with soft words and gentle caresses...
     She turned her attention to another colonist.
     "You'll be all right," she told the little girl, gently
brushing the hair out of the child's face.  "Just a broken leg.  In
two weeks, you'll be bouncing around again like nothing happened."
     This brought a smile to the child, but Beverly saw the shadow-
clouded eyes of her mother and looked away.  But something did
happen, and it'll be a long time before you forget - if you ever
do.
     The osteoregenerator hummed in her hands as the bone knit back
together, then she patted the child's knees reassuringly and turned
to the next patient.
     Another wave of dizziness washed over her, and she leaned
heavily against the table.
     "Doctor?" asked the mother, alarmed.  One of the medics,
seeing his commanding officer leaning against the table with a
trouble colonist supporting her, hastened to her side.
     "Dr. Crusher?" he asked, his dark features heavy with concern.
     "I'm all right, Soli," she said, trying not to be angry. The
medic was new to the _Enterprise_, and obviously hadn't been warned
not to interfere with her medical - or other - practices. "I
just turned around too fast, that's all.  I'll be all right in a
minute."
     Soli looked at her with evident disbelief.  "You've been
working 'round the clock since this whole thing started.  Maybe you
should go back to the ship and get some rest."
     Airily she waved him aside.  "Nonsense.  There are only a few
patients left; I'll finish them up and then I'll go back.  It'll
only take a few more minutes."
     "Well, all right," said Soli grudgingly.  
     She was conscious of his eyes on her back as she tended the
next few patients, but then her work absorbed her again and she
forgot all about the incident.

     "So what are your plans for shore leave, sir?" Ship's
Counselor Deanna Troi asked him mildly.
     "Oh, I was thinking it might be nice to visit a holosuite or
two," said Riker, "And I hear there's a *great* jazz band on Ingral
III.  That's only about an hour away by shuttle.  Do you and Worf
have any plans?"
     Unconsciously, Deanna's gaze flickered up to the towering
Klingon standing on the deck above them, a mysterious smile
hovering about her lips.  "We do," she said.
     "Geordi and I have plans to visit the zoo," threw in Data. 
"He says it will be a remarkable chance for me to revisit my
childhood."  He frowned slightly.  "Although, since I never had a
childhood, I am uncertain as to how I can 'revisit' it."
     Riker chuckled.
     "Was that funny?" Data asked hopefully.
     "Only mildly, Data."
     "Oh."  Data was obviously disappointed.  "Although I have
succeeded in mastering several emotions, I am afraid that creating
humor still escapes me."
     "You'll get it, Data.  Just give it time."
     The turbolift doors hissed open and Captain Picard stepped
onto the bridge.  Since their recent trip to Earth and the
launching of the new _Enterprise_, Riker thought he detected a new
buoyancy in the Captain's step, a lightness of heart that
had not been there before - particularly whenever a certain medical
officer was nearby.  A less observant officer wouldn't have noticed
anything amiss, but Riker had his suspicions.
     "How goes it, Number One?" the Captain asked, settling in to
his new chair.  He squirmed slightly, if the Captain could be
imagined doing so undignified a thing as squirming; the new chairs
required some getting used to.
     "All's well, sir," Riker reported.  He cast a conspiratorial
glance at Deanna.  "We were just discussing how we're going to
spend our brief shore leave at 39-Sierra."
     "Enjoy yourselves," said the Captain.  "It'll be a long time
before we're anywhere near a starbase again, so make sure you get
everything you need."
     "Do you and Beverly have any plans for our visit to the
starbase, sir?" Deanna asked innocently.
     Riker hid a grin by pretending to smooth his beard.  So he
wasn't the only one who had suspicions.
     "No," said the Captain, unruffled.  "I'll be dealing with that
delegation of bureaucrats, and I have no idea what Dr. Crusher 
has planned."
     "I see," said Deanna, looking away as if it were of only the
mildest possible interest to her.  "Well, if you're looking for
suggestions -"
     She was interrupted by the sudden blurp of the comlink.  "Soli
to _Enterprise_."
     "_Enterprise_ here," said the Captain.
     "Sir."  There was obvious relief in Soli's voice.  "Would you
please beam two directly to sickbay?"
     Instantly, concern darkened the Captain's features.  "Is one
of the colonists -?"
     "No, sir.  It's Dr. Crusher.  She's fainted."

     The first thing that Beverly Crusher saw when she opened her
eyes was the overhead sensor.  The damned thing seemed
unnecessarily bright against her weary eyes.  The second was Jean-
Luc's face, hovering over her with naked concern - and a little
anger.
     She resisted the urge to groan.
     "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.
     She pushed herself up, embarrassed to be lying unconscious in
her own sickbay.  She shook her head to rid herself of the last
lingering traces of dizziness.  "I think so."
     "Good."  She could see the muscles of his jaw clench; she had
to restrain the urge to caress the tension away with her fingertips. 
"Doctor, I think you should refresh yourself on medical basics. 
You can't do your patients any good if you're so exhausted you
can't see straight."
     "I had work to do-" she began hotly.
     "Which you can't do if you're exhausted," he repeated.  Then,
seeing her temper rising, he laid a gentle hand on her arm. 
"Beverly.  Please.  Go to your quarters and lie down.  Your medical
team tells me they're almost done; the disaster is over, and no one
has been lost since we arrived."
     "Thanks largely to the efforts of our medical team."
     "I know to whom credit is due," he said, looking gravely into
her eyes.
     Poor Jean-Luc.  He was really worried.  She'd have to take
better care of herself; it wouldn't do to have the ship's captain
distracted because he was worried about his chief medical officer's
health.  She sighed and looked down at her trembling hands.  If only
she weren't so very tired.
     He crossed his arms before his chest.  "Dr. Crusher, go to
your quarters and get some rest, or I'll have you relieved and
sedated."
     Momentarily startled, she looked up into his face.  His
expression was stern enough, but he couldn't quite keep the smile
from reaching his eyes.
     "Hah," she said, swinging her legs off the table.  "Nobody
orders my medical staff around but me."
     "Would you care to challenge that?" he asked pointedly.
     "Not particularly."  She hopped off the table with her usual
vivacity, but the cursed dizziness swept over her again. 
Instantly, Picard's arms went about her, holding her upright.
     "Dizzy again?" he asked, and now his voice was actually
alarmed.
     She couldn't resist the obvious reply.  "Being in your arms 
always makes me dizzy," she whispered.
     The Captain tried not to smile and failed.  His arms around
her shoulders tightened imperceptibly.  "Beverly, I'm really
worried about you.  You've been working around the clock for two
days, and you yourself said there are a lot of highly contagious
bugs running rampant down there.  Promise me you'll go to your
quarters and rest." 
     She smiled.  "Aye, sir, Captain, sir," she said, as
insubordinately as she possibly could.
     He removed his arms from her shoulders as Nurse Ogawa came
rushing up.
     "Dr. Crusher?" she asked anxiously.
     "I'll be all right, Alyssa.  I just need to go to my quarters
and lie down."  She fixed Jean-Luc with a glare she hoped would
fool her observant staff.  "It seems I'm being ordered to get some
rest."
     "That's probably a good idea," Alyssa said.
     Crusher smiled again at Jean-Luc and headed toward her
quarters.  

     "Alyssa."
     At the sound of her first name, Beverly's favorite nurse
looked up.  "Yes, Captain?"
     "Alyssa, can you tell me somthing?"
     Alyssa licked her lips nervously.  "If it doesn't break medical
confidentiality, Captain."
     "I see."  The Captain crossed his arms thoughtfully.  "Is Dr.
Crusher ill?"
     She sighed with relief.  That she could answer.  "Not to my
knowledge, sir."
     "Have you noticed any unusual behavior lately?"
     Alyssa cocked her head, considering.  "She's been a little
edgy since she first heard about the earthquake.  But then, it
probably struck a little close to home.  Weren't her parents killed
in some sort of disaster?"
     "Yes, they were."  The Captain paced the empty sickbay,
obviously more concerned then he would admit.  Alyssa waited
patiently, thinking about how she would feel if her own beloved
Mark had just fainted on a planet far below them.  Being a good
nurse depended heavily upon keen powers of observation, and Alyssa
was under no delusions about the feelings between her Captain and
her boss.  She just wished they'd admit to them and get on with
their lives.
     But then, maybe she just wanted everybody to be as happy as
she and Mark were.
     Picard stopped pacing.  "Very well.  Alyssa, if you do learn
anything that you can tell me without breaking medical
confidentiality, I'd appreciate it if you'd inform me at once."
     "Aye, sir," replied the nurse.

     "Well, that should stop most of the tremors, Governor," said
Geordi.  "We've reinforced the tectonic plates, and the
gravitational alignment of the planet has stabilized.  I still
don't know what it would take, to knock a planet off-course like
that."
     The Governor shrugged.  She was Kempakan, a tall, blue-skinned
race with protruding eyes.  Geordi privately thought they rather
resembled inebriated fish, but they made very, very good
administrators.  "Who knows?  I just hope it isn't something that's
a regular occurrence on this planet."
     "No way.  The Federation does pretty thorough research before
opening a planet up for colonization.  Things just happen
sometimes, though."
     The Kempakan shrugged again.  "Well, we'll just have to hope
it doesn't happen again," she said.

Amy M. Raduege                 |It is possible that blondes
[email-masked]     | also prefer gentlemen. -Mamie Van Doren

Path: tivoli.tivoli.com!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uwm.edu!news.doit.wisc.edu!news
From: [email-masked] (Tinuviel)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: aftershock
Date: 14 Feb 1995 05:02:18 GMT
Organization: Division of Information Technology
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Message-ID: <[email-masked]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: f180-156.net.wisc.edu
X-Newsreader: WinVN 0.92.6+
Xref: tivoli.tivoli.com alt.startrek.creative:6034

	This is my very first story posted to a newsgroup, so I
hope I get it right.  It seems to me to be the logical follow-up
to such stories as _The Nexus_ by Virginia Boehn and _To Every
Purpose_ by Melissa Wilson.  If you haven't read them, do it.
They're a lot of fun, and if you don't this might not make any
sense.
	A word of warning:  if you're not a Hopeless Romantic, 
DON'T READ THIS.  There's very little plot, and I left the actual
mission of the _Enterprise-E_ suitably vauge to minimize the 
amount of this that will be rendered non-canon when STVIII comes
out.  In the meantime, happy reading.

	Standard disclaimer:  Paramount owns everything, everyone,
and everyplace in this story lock, stock and barrel.  The story 
itself, for good or ill, is mine.

 
*********

                           AFTERSHOCK
                             part 2

Captain's Log, Stardate 48953.8  We have arrived at Starbase 39-
Sierra at last, where an envoy awaits the opportunity to
inspect our new ship.  Most of the crew, including the senior
officers, will be enjoying an informal sort of shore leave, but I
must remain aboard to entertain our guests.

     "So, what do you plan to do with your shore leave?" he asked,
pouring his companion another cup of tea.
     "Hmm?"  She looked up at him, her luminous blue eyes lost in
thought.  He loved to see her like this, relaxed and happy, wrapped
in her favorite blue robe - actually, it was *his* favorite blue
robe- and perfectly content just to be with him.  "Oh.  Shore 
leave.  I hadn't thought much about it, really.  There's still so
much to be done.  I wanted to review the new medical databanks,
make sure everybody's records are up to date, and there's an
 article in _Molecular Exogenetics_ I keep meaning to read..."
     "Beverly."  He took her hand.  She raised her eyes to
his as he squeezed her fingers.  "I want you to go have some fun. 
Really.  Just because I'm stuck on board this drafty old ship of
ours doesn't mean you can't go to the base and have some fun."  She
laughed lightly at his feeble joke.  "Why don't you find Deanna? 
You haven't spent much time with her lately, and she and Worf
aren't scheduled to leave until late this afternoon."
     She smiled into his eyes.  "You're right, of course.  I
haven't really taken any time since the disaster on Bett'au VII,
and I *do* have some shopping to do.  Will you have time for supper
tonight?"  She was already headed into the other room to get
dressed.
     "Always."
     "Good."  She reemerged a moment later, impeccably professional in her
uniform, her long hair bound loosely against the back of her neck. 
"I'll see you later, then."  And with a soft kiss on the tip of his
nose, she was gone.

     "Anything in particular you're looking for?" Deanna asked,
running a brush through her luxuriant curls.
     "Oh, I don't know," Beverly said from the Counselor's day
room.  "Wesley's birthday is coming up - although I don't know 
*how* I'd manage to get anything to him - and there are a few
miscellaneous things I need.  Mostly, though, I just want to get
away."
     Deanna nodded.  "You really could use the rest.  You haven't
taken any time off since you and the Captain came back from France,
and three months without a break is really too long."  It was meant
as a gentle jibe, a sort of probe to see if she could fish anything
out of Beverly about her new relationship with the Captain.  It
did not have the intended effect.  She felt a sudden rush of 
shock, of disbelief, pouring from the adjacent room.  "Beverly,
what's wrong?"  she asked urgently, watching all the blood drain
away from her friend's face.
     Weakly, Beverly sank into one of Deanna's chairs, shaking
her head.
     "Beverly, what is it?"  She knelt down next to her friend.
     Frantically, Beverly reached out and clutched Deanna's hand. 
"Deanna, will you make one brief stop by sickbay with me?  I think
I may have some shopping to do after all."

     "Anything else I should know about?" Riker asked, taking one
last perusal around the new bridge.
     Data frowned.  "I see no cause for concern, Commander. 
Everything seems to be under control."
     Riker grinned.  "All preparations for our bureaucrats well in
hand?"
     "The Captain appears to be preparing for their arrival with
great anticipation," Data deadpanned, but the flash of humor in his
eyes was unmistakable.  
     Riker's grin widened.  "You're getting better all the time,
Data."
     "Thank you, sir."

     "Is everything ready?" Worf asked, making a last quick check
of the shuttlecraft.
     "Ready," Deanna confirmed.
     The Klingon glanced at her sharply; she seemed vaguely
distant, and there was a soft, dreamy look in her dark Betazoid
eyes.
     "Deanna, is something wrong?"
     "Wrong?"  She turned her mysterious eyes toward him.  Slowly,
he saw her gaze come into focus.  "No, nothing's wrong.  In fact,
everything's wonderful."
     He relaxed slightly.  "I am glad that our trip pleases you,"
he said.
     To his surprise, a faint smile graced Deanna's features. 
"That, too," she said softly.

     "So how did your day go?" Beverly asked, carefully setting her
bundles down on his desk.  "All those bureaucrats didn't strain
your temper too much, did they?"
     He crossed the room to give her a kiss and press a glass of
wine - real wine, from his family's vineyards - into her hand.  "Not
terribly - for bureaucrats."  He grinned suddenly.  "For a group
of tourists, though, they were awful."
     She smiled at him, but the smile faded quickly away, replaced
by a far more thoughtful expression.  
     Picard studied her carefully.  He noted the smudges of
exhaustion lingering beneath her vibrant blue eyes, the faint 
pallor of her porcelain skin.  She just hadn't been herself at all
lately.  Maybe she still hadn't recovered from the effects of the 
earthquake on Bett'au VII.
     Or maybe she was still unwell, and hadn't told him.
     He couldn't bear to think about it any more.  With his wine
glass, he indicated the piles of packages stacked on his desk. 
"What's all this?" he asked, leaning over to inspect them.
     She stepped quickly in front of him, blocking his vision. 
"Oh, a few gifts for my oldest son," she said.  "The rest is a
surprise.  What's for supper?  I'm famished."  She put her arm
through his and drew him toward the table.
     "Oh... umm, braised lamb, new potatoes, and steamed carrots."
     "Mmmm, sounds perfect.  Let's eat," she said.
     "Beverly, you haven't touched your wine."
     She bit her lip, looking suddenly uncertain and a little
frightened.  "I know," she said softly.  "Medically speaking, it's
not a good idea right now."
     Cold fear gripped his heart.  Something was wrong with
Beverly!  If she'd contracted something on the planet, something
the biofilters didn't scan for... He turned and pulled her tightly
against him.
     For a moment, she simply clung to him, and he felt her
trembling against him.  They'd only just admitted their feelings
for each other, after more than twenty years of timid silence; to
loose her now would be unbearable.  Picard held her, promising
whatever powers there might be in the universe anything, anything
at all, just as long as they kept Beverly safe.
     And then he realized she was laughing!  Disgruntled, he
removed his arms from her slender waist and stepped back.  "What's
so funny?" he demanded gruffly.
     "Oh, Jean-Luc, the look on your face just now!  You looked
like I'd just signed my own death certificate!"  She laughed again,
lightly, and kissed him.
     He was not amused.  "Beverly, what the hell is going on?"
     Her bubbling laughter faded away, replaced by that hesitant
uncertainty he had detected earlier.  She took a deep breath,
squared her shoulders, and said, "I have something to tell you."
     He waited, steeling his heart against whatever she might say.
     "Maybe you'd better sit down."
     Oh, _merde_.  It was worse than he thought.  His knees 
suddenly weak, he sank obediently onto the couch.
     She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and looked
directly into his eyes for the first time that evening.  "Jean-Luc,
I'm pregnant."
     The glass slid away from his suddenly numb fingers.
     Her eyes searched his face, but she must've been uncertain
what she saw there, because she said, coachingly, "You're going to
be a father."
     "A f-father?" he repeated.
     Her eyes filled with an odd mixture of concern and amusement. 
"Jean-Luc, are you all right?"
     "A father?" he said again.
     Beverly sighed.  She crossed the room and knelt before him,
laying her hands on his.  "Jean-Luc.  Are you all right?"
     "All right?"  He looked at her in wonderment.  "Beverly... I
don't know what to say."
     "At this point, *anything* would be an improvement."
     "A child..." he mused.  "I'm going to be a father.  I never
thought I'd hear those words, especially after Jason..."
     She waited, her heart in her eyes.
     He looked down at her, saw her pulse beating nervously 
against her throat.  And he smiled.  "I never thought those words
could be so wonderful."
     And then she was in his arms, their lips pressed tightly
together.  He wasn't sure if the tears wetting his cheeks belonged
to her or to him.  
     They parted to gaze into each other's eyes.  "This is where
all the trouble began," she said, teasingly.
     He smiled, remembering that warm and fateful night in France, in
his family's ancestral home.  A home that maybe, perhaps,
might yet again be filled with the laughter of children.  A low,
delighted chuckle bubbled up from his chest and escaped his guard;
he was suddenly overcome with joy. 
     "Marry me."
     "What?!"
     This was not precisely the answer he had expected.  Gravely,
he repeated, "Marry me."
     Still she hesitated.  "Jean-Luc, if this is about us having a
child together-"
     "I assure you it's not.  Beverly."  He laid a hand over hers,
then changed his mind.  He slid off the couch and knelt before her,
taking both her hands into his.  "Beverly, I love you.Being your husband,
raising our child, would be the fulfillment of dreams I didn't even know
I had.  I promise you, no matter what your answer, I will love and cherish
you both for the rest of my days.  But please say yes.  Marry me."
     The beauty of the stars spread out behind her paled in
comparison to her smile.  "Now, how can I resist a proposal like
that?" she asked.
     "Is that a yes?" he asked, acutely aware of his heart pounding
against his ribs.
     "Yes.  Most definitely, yes."
     For a moment, he was too overjoyed to move or even reply. 
Then he let out a very un-Captain-like whoop, startling Beverly,
and leapt to his feet.  "Just a minute," he said, kissing her
again, and vanished into the other room.
     When he returned, he held a small box cradled gingerly between
his fingers.  "I was going to give you this a little later," he
said.  "But, circumstances seem to warrant ..."  He flipped open
the lid.
     Beverly gasped.  Inside was a simple gold ring, highlighted by
the advent of a single diamond.
     "I know engagement rings are a little outdated," he said
tentatively, looking critically at the gleaming stone, "but I was
wondering if you might consent to wearing it?  It belonged to my
great-great-grandmother; we could say it was a family tradition,
that you were humoring me by wearing it..."
     "Jean-Luc."
     At the sound of her voice, he stopped babbling and looked at
her.  She was smiling softly at him.
     "Jean-Luc, I'd be proud to wear it."  Gravely, she held out
her left hand.
     Somewhat nervously, he removed the ring from its box and
slipped it onto her finger.
     "It fits perfectly," she said, sounding surprised.
     He grinned wickedly.  "I know.  I had it resized in
anticipation of this event."
     She looked at him askance.  "You're lucky my fingers aren't
swollen.  How did you know my size?"
     "I measured your finger while you were sleeping."
     Her expression changed to stunned disbelief, then surprise,
and finally dissolved into laughter.  "Well, life with you will
certainly keep me on my toes, at any rate."
     "Or off of them," he agreed, nuzzling her neck.

Amy M. Raduege                 |It is possible that blondes
[email-masked]     | also prefer gentlemen.  -Mamie Van Doren

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From: [email-masked] (Tinuviel)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Aftershock, part (3/8?)
Date: 14 Feb 1995 08:08:57 GMT
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Hi all!
	This is still my first story ever posted, and it's turning
out quite a bit different from what I originally expected.  However,
I still feel it is only fair to warn you that this is For Hopeless
Romantics.  If you like stories about big guns, high drama, sophisticated
strategies, and so on, this is not for you.

	Otherwise, happy reading once again.

	Quintessential disclaimer about Paramount owning everything,
everyplace, and everyone mentioned in the story.  The story itself 
belongs to me.

*************

                       AFTERSHOCK
		       part three 

     "Good morning, Doctor."
     "Good morning, Alyssa."  Awkwardly, Beverly negotiated the
path toward her desk, lowering her cumbersome bulk into the chair. 
Funny, the space had never seemed so cramped before.  Now it seemed
to get smaller with each passing day.
     "How are you feeling?" Alyssa asked, following her into the
office.
     "Wonderful.  Horrible.  I just wish the morning sickness would
go away."  She patted her bulging belly, as the child within
rewarded her attentions by giving her a firm kick.
     Alyssa grinned knowingly.  "I know.  I only had it two months
with Matthew, and I thought it was never going to end."
     Beverly smiled.  "I certainly would have thought it would give
up by now.  After all, the child'll be here in only a few weeks,
and Jean-Luc -"
     She was interrupted by the cheerful blurp of the ship's
hailing system.  "Captain to Doctor Picard."
     At the sound of her husband's voice, Beverly Picard's heart
flipped.  "Yes, Captain?" she asked as Alyssa discreetly slipped
from the room.
     "Doctor, there will be a staff meeting in the observation
lounge in ten minutes.  I'd appreciate it if you could attend."
     "Of course, sir."
     There was the briefest of pauses, and then Jean-Luc said, "Are
you feeling any better?"  His voice was softer, gentler, an
unspoken arrangement between them that he was talking to her now as
her husband, not her commanding officer.  He was in the ready room,
then.  He never talked to her like that except when they were
alone.
     "I'll be all right," she said, then gasped as their unborn
child kicked her firmly in the ribs.  "Just tell the baby to quit
kicking me, and I'll be much better."
     "Come up to the bridge and I'll do just that."
     "I'm on my way."

     The other officers all stood as Beverly entered, an
unconscious acknowledgement of her procreative state. 
Jean-Luc crossed the room and offered her his arm,
gently lowering her into the seat beside him.
     "How's the kid?" Riker asked teasingly.
     Beverly smiled at him and pushed a stray strand of hair back
from her face.  "Just fine, thank you."  She patted her belly. 
"Likes to kick a little much for my taste, though - I thought I'd
*never* get to sleep last night."
     Jean-Luc laid a hand on her shoulder, an unconscious gesture
telling her to keep their private life private.  "All right,
people, if you're done enquiring about the state of my lovely bride
-" he smiled fondly at his wife - "we have some business to attend
to."
     Instantly, his officers were all business.
     "I have some bad news," he said.  "Bett'au VII has suffered
another earthquake, accompanied by strong storms and severe
flooding."  He looked at his wife, who had suddenly gone deathly
pale.  "I'm afraid there were no survivors."
     Beverly put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wider than he'd ever
seen them.  He had to resist the urge to take her into his arms.
But that wouldn't be appropriate; in this room she was the Chief
Medical Officer, not his wife.  Gently, he said, "We're the 
closest ship in the area.  We're going to have to assess the
damage."
     Weakly she nodded, her eyes drifting toward the obsidian
tabletop.
     Picard turned his attention back to the rest of the crew.  
"I'm afraid it gets worse.  Starfleet Command has evidence to
suspect that the Romulans have developed a new weapon."
     "Metagenic?" Beverly asked, her face going even paler.
     Her husband regarded her with unmistakable tenderness, but his
voice retained the Captain's control as he replied, "No.  It seems
they have developed a means to pull a planet out of alignment."
     There were low cries of disbelief and outrage around the
table.
     "The amount of power required to move an entire planet would
be considerable," Data said, though his voice was sick with horror.
"Even the _Enterprise_ cannot generate so much."
     "And the effects on the planet's inhabitants would be
devastating," Geordi added.  "There'd be floods, storms,
earthquakes of a scale to make your head spin-"  And then he was
silent, as he and the other officers realized what he'd just said.
     Feeling slightly sick himself, Picard nodded.  "Yes.  The
Federation Science Council now believes that the disaster on
Bett'au VII was deliberately instigated by the Romulans in an
attempt to test their new weapon.  Two other planets have been
destroyed as well."
     His officers merely stared at him, stunned.
     "Our orders," he continued, forcing himself to keep his eyes
away from his wife, "are to patrol the sector, ready to respond to
the first sign of distress from any Federation planet.  If we find
the Romulans, we have the authority to take whatever action we deem 
necessary.  The _Agamemnon_, the _Urania_, and the _Temin_ are on 
their way.  In the meantime, let's spend the time heightening our 
sensor capabilities and *quietly* preparing the ship for an 
encounter with the Romulans."
     "Do you think it'll come to that, sir?" Riker asked, looking
faintly uneasy.  They all knew what 'an encounter with the
Romulans' meant.
     "I hope not, Number One.  I'm just trying to prepare for all
extingencies."  He flicked a glance at his wife, who sat in
troubled silence.
     Riker followed his gaze.  "Understood, sir."

     "No!" he roared.
     "Jean-Luc, I'm still the Chief Medical Officer.  It's my duty
to go down there, and I'm going, whether you like it or not!"  She
regarded him with dangerous fire behind her eyes.  "Unless
you plan to relieve me of duty merely because I'm pregnant?"
     He took a deep breath, making a determined effort to reign
in his considerable anger.  "You know I can't do that."
     "Then you have to let me go."
     He counted to ten in several languages at once, forcing his
concern and his temper back under control.  Once more, he tried
reasoning with her.  "Beverly, you're seven and a half months
pregnant.  Would you send any of your staff down unto an unstable
planet riddled with disease under those conditions?"
     "No.  But then, none of them are this ship's Chief Medical
Officer.  I am."
     "And you're the best in Starfleet.  That doesn't mean,
however, that you need to attend every disaster yourself."
     "Yes, but - this is different."  She stopped pacing their
quarters and turned to face him.  "Jean-Luc, these people were my
patients.  I need to see what's been done to them, to confirm for
myself that there isn't anyone left."  She stretched a hand toward
him, her voice and her eyes filled with supplication - not for his
permission, but for his understanding.  "Please."
     And in that instant, Jean-Luc Picard knew he would do anything
she asked of him - not that he'd ever been able to deny her
anything anyway.  Reluctantly, he gave in.
     "All right.  But take care of yourself.  Let Riker and the
others bring the bodies to *you*.  They're dead; nothing you can do
will help them now."  He laid a hand against her cheek to take the
sting away from the brutal words.
     "All right," she promised. 

     "Here's another one," called Geordi La Forge, examining yet
another body half-buried in the rubble.  He sighed in recognition;
it was the Kempakan governor, now looking more than ever like a
fish out of water.
     Dr. Picard waddled over to him with almost no sign of her
usual grace, attended soliticiously by Data.  The android officer
was fascinated by her pregnancy, following her about with childlike wonder and plying her with
limitless questions, which Picard endured with remarkable patience.
     Her face hard as stone, Picard made the necessary adjustments
in her log.
     "Let's go over there next," she said, indicating a collapsed
building with her eyes.  Wordlessly, Data and Geordi followed her.
     The ruin was once a school, and the bodies within were all
young children.  Geordi couldn't quite resist the urge be sure
the doctor was all right.  Picard's face was now deathly pale, and
there was a slight tremor in her voice as she ordered Data to move 
this or that so that she could better inspect the bodies.
     And then she simply collapsed.
     Instantly, Data and Geordi were beside her, kneeling next to
her in concern as she sat shaking on the cracked and twisted
pavement.  "Oh, my God," she said, over and over.
     Curiously, Geordi turned to the corpse she had just
discovered.  It was a little girl, wisps of blond hair floating
gently about her still face.  He could see nothing extraordinary
about her.
     But Picard said, "She had a broken leg.  I healed it for her;
I told her it was going to be all right.  And now it'll never be
all right again.  She was only six."
     La Forge was amazed to see tears pouring down Picard's face;
she never lost control of herself like this, and the _Enterprise_ 
had encountered some pretty tragic things over the years.  Then he
remembered that raging hormones sometimes caused pregnant women to
behave more emotionally than they normally would.  Still, it was
disconcerting.
     From the expression on his face, Data was concerned, too. 
"Come, Doctor," he said, gently easing the CMO to her feet.  "I
believe it is time we returned to the ship.  There is nothing we
can do here." 

     "Anybody who'd be the deliberate participant in such an
atrocity deserves... well, worse than anything I can come up with,"
Beverly spat, too angry to be reasonable.
     Jean-Luc simply put his arms around her.  He knew his wife;
he could almost see her remembering the thousands of death 
certificates she'd had to fill out - and there was nothing Beverly
hated more than death certificates.  Particularly those of the 
children.  With the birth of her own child rapidly approaching, 
those deaths were just that much more painful.
     For a moment, she stood stiff and unyielding in his embrace,
and then she crumpled against him and began to cry.
     "There were so many children," she whispered against his 
chest.  "So many little ones who'll never have the chance to grow
up."
     "I know."  He stroked her hair reassuringly.
      She sobbed until she had no more tears, then stood leaning
against him, drawing on his warmth and strength as he had so
often drawn on hers.
     The baby within Beverly kicked them both, an affirmation of
life in the midst of so much death.  In spite of herself, Beverly
smiled down at her protruding tummy, allowing the loving embrace of
her husband and the promise of their unborn child to comfort her
at last.  When she looked at him again, Picard could see only the
faintest of shadows in her eyes.
     But seeing shadows where there had been only light before
filled Picard's heart with grief, and he promised himself that
whoever was responsible would not go unpunished.

Amy M. Raduege                 |It is possible that blondes
[email-masked]     | also prefer gentlemen.  -Mamie Van Doren

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From: [email-masked] (Tinuviel)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Aftershock, part (4/8?)
Date: 16 Feb 1995 05:42:09 GMT
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This is my first story ever posted.  So far, all comments and suggestions
have been helpful and encouraging, for which I am exceedingly grateful.

A quick word:  I know that in _Parallels_, Troi talks about two children
she had with Worf.  Speaking as a biologist, I just find that extremely
unlikely.  By definition, "the ability to produce viable offspring" means
that they'd have to be the same species (barring genetic engineering).  
A technicality, I know, but it's one of my Personal Pet Peeves.  Everyone 
is, of course, entitled to his or her own opinion.

Typical disclaimer:  Paramount owns every person, every place, and every 
thing mentioned in this story.  The story itself, for good or ill, 
remains my own.

Enjoy!

                          AFTERSHOCK
                            part 4

    "It would be advisable for you to push at this time," Dr.
Selar said calmly.
     At that moment, Beverly Picard sincerely wanted to push Dr.
Selar - preferably out the nearest airlock.  "What do you think
I've been *doing* for the past six hours, Selar?  Knitting?"
     Selar merely raised an eyebrow.  Having spent so many years on
the __Enterprise__, she was accustomed to the unusual declarations
made by human women in labor.  However, Beverly Picard was proving
to be one of her more... inventive... patients.
     Beverly endured the rest of the contraction and sagged back
against her pillows, gasping for breath.
     "You're doing just fine," Jean-Luc said, his voice low and
reassuring.  Tenderly, he stroked the sweat-soaked hair out of her
face, caressed the tired muscles of her neck and shoulders.  "It'll
be over soon."
     She opened her eyes to fix him with a steely glare.  "Soon? 
I'll tell you about soon."  She was about to say more, but another
contraction took her and she arched forward, out of the bed, then
fell back again when it ended.
     Calmly, Deanna Troi dipped a cloth into some cool water and
laid it against Beverly's forehead.  "How does that feel?"
     "Like somebody's piloting a Klingon battle cruiser through my
stomach!"  She turned to her husband, clutching the front of his
shirt; comfortingly he wrapped his arms around her.
      "Jean-Luc, I don't want to do this anymore," Beverly said 
wearily, leaning her head against his chest.  "*You* have the baby. 
Bring it home when you're done.  I just need to sleep."
     Picard kissed her hair.  "I would do it for you if I could."
     She yawned.  "I'm just so tired," she began, then cried out as
another contraction took her.
     "Should it be hurting her so much?" Picard whispered to
Deanna, horribly worried for his wife's safety.
     Deanna smiled reassuringly.  "It's been a long time since
Beverly's been through this," she said.  "Her body is just protesting, 
that's all."
     Time wore on.  The contractions grew increasingly intense, and his 
poor Beverly writhed on her bed, suffering under the onslaught of
the powerful spasms.
     And then, suddenly, she began to laugh.
     "It's here," said Selar calmly, pulling the infant from its
mother's body.  A healthy squall filled the air.  "Captain and 
Doctor Picard, I announce the birth of your daughter."
     "She's beautiful, Captain," said Deanna Troi, a radiant smile
coming to her face.
     Delighted, Picard bent and kissed his wife, who smiled
tiredly.
     Alyssa wrapped the newborn in a blanket and gravely presented
her to her parents.
     For the first time, Picard held his daughter in his arms. He
was amazed at how small she was, how delicate, how beautiful.  And
she was *his*.  His and Beverly's.  Wonderingly, he reached out and
touched the crying baby's soft cheek.
     A tiny fist came up and grabbed, wrapping her little fingers
around his thumb and his heart in that instant.  Tenderly, he
kissed the tiny head.
     "Jean-Luc, don't be such a monopolist.  Let me see her," said
Beverly.
     Smiling, he turned to his wife. Her hair was dishevelled and
damp with perspiration, stains of exhaustion were forming 
beneath her weary eyes, and her clothing was smeared and 
splattered with the efforts of her labor.  But she was smiling 
softly, and there was a light in her eyes he'd never seen before.  
She'd never looked more beautiful.
     Gently, he lowered their daughter into her waiting embrace,
and then gathered them both into his arms.
     "Hello, little one," she said to the infant.  At the sound of
her voice, the baby stopped crying.  Gravely, mother and daughter 
regarded each other.  Picard was struck be the resemblance, already
apparent; the baby had her mother's red hair, and a faintly 
doubtful look he knew very well indeed.  The baby yawned a solemn 
hello, blinking tiredly after her eventful day.  Beverly kissed 
the tiny head.  And then they both fell asleep.

     "Good morning, sir.  How's Jackie?"  Riker asked.
     The Captain looked at him wearily, slinking tiredly into his
chair.  "She's fine, Number One, but her mother and I could use
some sleep."  He pressed his fingertips against the bridge of his
nose and bit back an obvious yawn. "You'd think after three months,
she'd be sleeping through the night.  But she seems to think 
'nighttime' is for grown-ups only."  Then he fixed his First 
Officer with a speculative eye.  "I don't suppose I could 
persuade you to babysit, could I?"
     Riker looked more frightened than if Picard had just suggested
that he take on a Menthalion razortooth singlehanded.  "Sorry, sir.
I'm just not good with infants."
     Picard smiled ruefully.  "I didn't think I was, either - until
I had one."
     "How's Beverly?" Deanna asked softly from Picard's other side.
     As always, the mere thought of his wife bought a smile to
Picard's lips.  "Fine.  Tired.  A little temperamental.  I think
she's going stir-crazy, with only the baby and me for company and
no work to distract her."
     "How long before she goes back on duty?" Riker asked.
     "A few more weeks.  Selar's doing a good job as acting CMO,
but it'll be good to have Beverly back at her post."  He grinned.
"Although my annual physical is overdue, and I somehow think I'm 
going to hear about it."
     Deanna smiled.  "I was planning to visit her later."
     "Do that.  She'll be thrilled for some company besides her
grouchy old husband and a cranky infant."
     Deanna laughed.

     From tactical, Worf listened with disapproval.  Since the
Captain and Dr. Crusher had married, the tenor of the ship had
changed.  Everyone was... well, so *happy*.  And since the birth of
their daughter, things seemed to revolve around families and
booties and baby-clothes.
     Of course, on a Klingon ship, there would be no families.  A
warrior could concentrate on a warrior's business, without the
distraction of children underfoot.
     Worf frowned.  No children underfoot also meant no Alexander. 
And, troublesome though the boy was, Worf loved his son.  Having
the boy around was worth some inconvenience.
     Besides, the little girl was cute, in a human sort of way. 
Perhaps after she got older, talk centered around her would die
down and things would get back to normal.
     He could hope, anyway.

     "Oh, Deanna, please come in," Beverly said, looking enormously
relieved.
     "Hello, Beverly.  The Captain said you might like some
company."
     Beverly smiled.  "That was nice of him.  He's right; I'm
getting a little bored.  Just a second, I'll get us some tea."
     Quickly she crossed the room and ordered two Darjeelings -
Deanna felt an amused twinge at Beverly's private rebellion - and
some cookies.
     "So, what's happening on the ship these days?"  Beverly 
asked, placing the food between them.
     Deanna was unable to hide her surprise.  "Hasn't the captain
told you?"
     "Not beyond a need-to-know basis.  I know that we're still 
searching for the Romulans, that they're still being elusive, and
that two more planets have been destroyed in the meantime.  He 
won't tell me anything beyond that.  We'd scheduled some leave 
time after Jackie was born, but of course the situation changed 
all that.  He still wants me to enjoy the last few days of *my* 
leave, though, and he's worried that I might get upset about the 
way things are going, throw on my uniform, and go marching up to 
the bridge to fix things."  She laughed.  "He's probably right."
     "Then maybe I shouldn't say anything, either."
     "No, please, talk to me.  I love Jackie, but at this point
it's a relief to be able to hold an intelligent conversation with
someone that doesn't require diapers."
     Deanna laughed.  "Well, as you said, we're still searching for
the Romulan ships.  Geordi thinks he's come up with a way to detect
them even if they're cloaked - he presented the method at the staff
meeting, but I didn't understand very much of it, to be honest.  I 
don't think *anybody* did, except Data.  Something about enhanced 
tachyons and compressed quantum singularities.  But anyway, we 
haven't found anything.  So mostly, we're just patrolling the area
and waiting."  She thought of her long hours on the bridge and 
smiled ruefully.  "You really haven't missed anything."
     "Which explains why Jean-Luc has been so impatient lately,"
Beverly concluded.  "He doesn't like sitting on a time-bomb."
     "Probably."
     The two women sipped their tea in companionable silence,
which was interrupted by a baby's cry from the other room.  
"Lunch time," Beverly explained, jumping up from her seat. 
     Deanna watched with some envy as Beverly nursed her tiny
daughter, discreetly shielded by a soft blue blanket - one of 
the doctor's purchases at 39-Sierra, Deanna recalled.  "It must be
wonderful, having a child of your own to hold," she said.
     Beverly smiled softly.  "It is.  I'd forgotten how much fun
it is to have a baby - lots of work, though," she added,
shifting the child to her shoulder.
     "Let me."  Deanna took the willingly-proffered baby into her
arms, cradling her gently against her shoulder and patting the
little back.
     Beverly watched them with mysterious eyes.  "You should try
that with one of your own."
     Deanna laughed wistfully.  "Not me.  Betazoids and Klingons
aren't genetically compatible, and the idea of engineering a child
just seems - well, a lot less fun than just... making one."
     The doctor nodded.  "Well, if you change your mind, you have
my number."
     Deanna shifted the baby down to her lap.  "When are you going
back on duty?" she asked, adjusting Jackie's dress.
     "Next week.  I'm really looking forward to it, but I have to
admit, it'll be hard leaving Jackie every morning."  She stroked 
the little head affectionately.
     Then the ship rocked beneath them.

     "Mr. Worf, aim phasers and fire!" Picard bellowed, leaping to
his feet.
     "Aye, sir!"  Worf complied instantly.
     Picard watched the viewscreen, anxiously searching for any
signs of damage.  Streaks of energy ripped away from the
__Enterprise__ and tore toward the suspected location of the 
enemy ships.
     From the apparently empty space in front of him, three
explosions occurred.  Two struck the port ship, which detonated 
immediately; the other was hit only once, and the _Enterprise_ 
personnel could see its struggles to maintain its position.
     "One enemy ship destroyed," Worf announced unnecessarily from
above.  "Sensors indicate significant damage to the second ship."
     "Is there a third?"
     Worf adjusted his sensors slightly.  "Yes.  It lies
approximately three hundred kilometers off our starboard bow."  The
console bleeped at him.  "Sir, they are hailing us."
     "On screen."
     Instantly, the indignant face of a Romulan general filled the
screen.  "What is the meaning of this?!" he roared.
     Picard's jaws clenched.  Tightly, he said, "This is Federation
territory, sir.  If you fire on a Starfleet vessel, you may expect
us to return the favor."
     The Romulan responded with icy fury.  "We are defending 
Romulan territory!  Do you expect us to stand by and do nothing 
while the Federation pulls inhabited planets out of orbit?  Do you
think we will not defend our people?"
     Picard felt a surge of indignation that the Romulans
would accuse them of such things, and then the significance of that
statement slammed into him.  "What?" he asked, feeling the blood 
drain away from his face.
     The general leaned forward accusingly.  "In the past seven
months, six Romulan planets have been ripped out of their proper 
orbits and destroyed - all in this quadrant, all bordering 
Federation territory.  Over seventeen billion people have been 
killed.  Did you really think you could get by with such an 
atrocity?"
     Picard stared at him.  "Sir, I must inform you that five
Federation planets have been destroyed in this manner as well."
     The General snorted contemptuously.  "Do you really expect me
to believe you?"
     "What you believe or don't believe is not the point," Picard
said, making a determined effort to keep his temper.  "I will 
transmit the information now, if you'll receive it."
     The Romulan regarded him suspiciously, but Picard thought he
saw the faintest gleam of curiousity behind the other's dark
expression.  His eyes narrowed.  "Very well.  Let us see if you can
substantiate these - rumors."
     With a gesture, Picard ordered Worf to transmit the
informtaion.  The Klingon obeyed just as quickly as he had before,
but with considerably less enthusiasm.  Worf would rather fight the
Romulans than talk to them.
     The general leaned forward, studying the materials now
flashing across his viewscreen.  When he looked up again, much of
his anger had melted away.  "It appears we have a common
problem," he said.
     "I've reached much the same conclusion," Picard agreed. 
"Would you agree to meet with me and my staff aboard the
__Enterprise__, General -?"
     "Valok," the Romulan supplied.  "And you, of course, are 
Jean-Luc Picard.  Your reputation preceeds you, Captain."
     Picard nodded tersely.  "Will you come aboard, General Valok? 
It seems we have much to discuss."
     "It does indeed," said the Romulan.  He considered it.  "Very
well.  I and two of my aides will come aboard your ship.  Valok
out."
     "Worf, go greet them.  Bring them up to the observation
lounge."  Worf headed toward the turbolift, but not before giving 
his captain a displeased stare.  Picard sighed and tapped his 
combadge.  "Picard to Troi."
     "Yes, Captain?" came the Counselor's pleasant voice.
     "Would you please report to the observation lounge?  I think
your services might be required."
     "Of course, sir."
     There was a moment's silence before Beverly's voice came over
the link.  "Jean-Luc, is there anything I-?"
     "Not now, doctor," Picard said, more harshly than he'd
intended.  Cold fear washed over him as he suddenly realized that
the lives of his wife and daughter had been in serious danger, and
only the Fate Riker claimed watched over ships named __Enterprise__ had
saved them.  That, and Geordi's extraordinary engineering
abilities, abilities that had enabled them to detect the Romulans
before it was too late.
     He swallowed heavily, trying to conceal his sudden trembling. 
"Number One, you have the bridge," he said to his First Officer,
and retreated to the observation lounge to calm his nerves before
Valok and his aides arrived.

Amy M. Raduege                 |It is possible that blondes
[email-masked]     | also prefer gentlemen.  -Mamie Van Doren

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From: [email-masked] (Tinuviel)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Aftershock, part (5/8?)
Date: 21 Feb 1995 04:50:26 GMT
Organization: Division of Information Technology
Lines: 216
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Hi all!
	Sorry for the delay.  My computer and I were experiencing 
creative difficulties.

Disclaimer #1:  This story is for hopeless romatics and by a hopeless
romantic.  If you like subtle intrigue, lots of action, etc., you're
in for a big disappointment - particularly in this section.  :)

Disclaimer #2:  Paramount owns every person, every place, and every
thing mentioned in this story lock, stock, and barrel.  I'm still 
responsible for the story itself.

Happy reading!

                          AFTERSHOCK

			     part 5

     Lieutenant Commander Data was having a bad day.
     Things began to go wrong the moment the Romulan ships
decloaked.  Since the launching of the _Enterprise-E_, no one had 
had the temerity to actually fire on the Federation flagship.  The 
destruction of the _Enterprise-D_ notwithstanding, Data had begun 
to feel safe and secure on board its successor.
     Then there were the Romulans themselves.  Though he'd had
interactions with their race in the past, he hadn't realized they
were quite so...  aggravating.  Their arrogance, their
condescension toward a species that Data had always admired - well,
it set his teeth on edge.
     And to top it all off, after somehow persuading General Valok
and his aides that the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire faced
a common threat, Captain Picard had laid the problem of *defining*
that threat squarely in Data's lap.  He'd looked forward to a nice,
quiet evening in his quarters, practicing his violin or playing
with Spot's latest batch of kittens, but that would have to be
postponed now.
     He sighed heavily.
     "Something wrong, Data?"
     Commander Riker stood just down the corridor, a sympathetic
grin on his face.  Data grinned back, ruefully.
     "No, sir.  I was merely lamenting the fact that my evening
will not be spent as I intended."
     Riker's grinned broadened.  "Just think how the Captain feels. 
He's got to inform Starfleet Command that they were *wrong* about
the Romulans - and you know how Starfleet Command feels about being
wrong about anything.   And *then* he's got to go home to his
wife."
     For a moment, Data was puzzled.  Returning to one's spouse was
generally considered to be a pleasant experience, particularly when
there was a young child at home.
     Then he remembered the scene on the bridge.
     "Oh, dear," he said.
     "My thoughts exactly," Riker said, giving Data a
conspiratorial thump on the shoulder.  "The bachelor life for me,
my friend."  And then he headed off down the corridor.
     Data, for his part, resumed course toward the science lab. 
Suddenly, an evening spent with the computer didn't seem so bad.

     Captain Picard sighed and pushed his fingers against his weary
eyes.  Taking another sip of his Earl Grey, he continued his entry:
     "The Romulans finally agreed to accept us at our word, and
acknowledge that we have a common problem.  They have returned to
their surviving ship, requesting time to brief their government."
     He took another sip of his tea.  "Computer, encode and send to
Admiral Alynna Nechayev, priority one."
     The bleep of the computer blended smoothly with the chime at
his door.
     "Come," he called.
     The door opened and Commander Troi walked in.  "Good evening,
Captain," she said pleasantly.
     "Commander," he replied, remembering that Troi often took the
delta shift to facilitate her other duties as ship's counselor.
     "Work about done?" she asked.
     He nodded tersely.  "Only just."
     "Good.  Then I can tell you to go home."
     He was somewhat taken aback by the firmness of her tone.
     "I'd advise you to go home at once, Captain," she said, and
this time there was no mistaking the command in her voice. 
"Beverly was quite upset after she tried to contact you."
     For a moment, he could only stare at her.  Then he said, "Oh,
dear."
     "Precisely."
     "Was she terribly angry?" he asked meekly.
     Deanna smiled reassuringly.  "I wouldn't worry about it *too*
much.  It's only natural to react with anger when someone you love
has been threatened.  However, given Beverly's particular
temperament, it might not be wise to let it fester."
     He was already on the turbolift when he heard Deanna say,
"Good night, Captain."

     Although it was very late,  he'd hoped Beverly might be up,
waiting for him.  But the lights in the main cabin were out and the
windows darkened, a sure sign that she'd turned in for the night -
and that she was angry with him.  For a brief moment, Jean-Luc
Picard, who had faced down countless enemies, endured a multitude
of attacks, and survived more than one "Captain Picard Day", seriously
considered spending the night on his ready room couch.  Then a soft
baby's gurgle came from the bedroom; he sighed and headed in that
direction.
     Beverly was sound asleep, their infant daughter playing on the
bed beside her.  Picard watched them a moment, delighting in the
scene before him.  Once, he'd never dreamed he'd share a home and a
life with the former Beverly Crusher.  Now, she lay peacefully on
their bed, their child playing contentedly beside her.
     Jackie's head turned toward him as he approached.  She gurgled
once, regarding him gravely for a moment before returning to the
serious matter of trying to stuff her toes into her mouth.
     He crossed to the bed and sat down beside his wife, studying
her sleeping face.  Never had he seen her so tired as she had since
Jackie's birth, but he'd never seen her so happy, either.  She was
so precious to him.  And their little girl, Jackie...  He rubbed
her little tummy and was rewarded by a delighted smile and what
might have been a giggle.  The thought of what might happen to them
twisted his heart.  
     Slowly, tenderly, he leaned forward to kiss Beverly's cheek. 
He hadn't wanted to wake her, only to reassure himself that she was
there, real, warm and safe in their bed with their infant daughter
playing in her arms.  But she came awake at his touch, reluctantly
blinking the sleep out of her weary eyes.
     "Jean-Luc...?" she asked vaguely, looking around as if she
were faintly disoriented.  "Wha -?"
     "Shhh.  Go back to sleep," he whispered, caressing her arm. 
"I just wanted to reassure myself that you and Jackie are all
right."
     She pushed herself upright and pushed the hair out of her
eyes, blinking at him in confusion.  "We're fine," she said.  "Why
wouldn't we be?"
     "The attack..." he began.
     "Oh, the attack," she repeated, and then remembered that she
was angry with him.  Her gaze swung into focus.  "And what did you
mean, just clipping me off like that?  Just because I'm your wife,
you don't have to answer my questions anymore?  I'll be Chief
Medical Officer again pretty soon, and you'd better not interrupt
me like that *then*, or-"
     He stopped her by planting a firm kiss on her lips.  He
slipped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close,
stroking her hair tenderly.
     "Jean-Luc, what's wrong?" she asked.  All trace of her anger
was gone, replaced by compassion and concern.
     "It's just...  hearing your voice made me realize what
might've happened... how you and Jackie might've been killed by my
actions.  It frightened me.  I've never had so much to lose before,
not even with Nella Daren..."
     He cursed himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
The flash of pain in her eyes was unmistakable.  Weakly, he smiled
for her.  "I'd forgotten how difficult it is to have someone I love
under my command."
     Jackie squirmed, and Beverly laid a tender hand against the
baby's downy head.  "You've put me at risk before," she reminded
him softly.
     He looked at her, saw the tears pressing against the backs of
her eyes, felt her grief and pain as his own.  He reached out and
cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.  "But never as my
wife," he pointed out.  "I'd never admitted to myself how much
putting you at risk bothered me, how empty I'd feel if anything
ever happened to you.  Those others... they were all just affairs,
empty and meaningless in the long run.  But you... you're so much
a part of me, I don't even know where I end and you begin anymore. 
I can't imagine my life without you in it - and Jackie," he added,
feeling a thump against his thigh as the baby stretched.  He
reached down and lifted her up, holding her tightly against his
heart.  "I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to either of
you," he said.
     Beverly only looked at him.  Finally, she said, "I wish I knew
what to say.  We both knew that there were risks when we entered
Starfleet; we just never realized we might be risking each other."
     Startled, he turned from his contemplation of his daughter to
stare into her eyes.  Yes, she was right:  he was as much at risk
as she.  His position didn't require him to beam down to unfamiliar
planets, didn't ask that he expose himself to all sorts of unknown
disease or pestilence, but his life was in danger, too.  Starfleet
life was exciting, stimulating, invigorating - anything but safe.
     Jackie grabbed a handful of her father's shirt and earnestly
attempted to stuff it into her mouth.  
     "I think she's hungry," he said, passing the infant back into
Beverly's arms.
     "She shouldn't be.  I'd just been feeding her when you came
in."
     "I think you'd been asleep for some time, actually."  
     "Mmm."  
     Picard reached out and rubbed Beverly's neck, delighting in
the feel of her skin beneath his fingers, while Jackie slurped
happily in her mother's arms.  Slowly, she leaned against him, and
gently Picard cradled his wife and daughter against his heart.
     "I guess we've made up," Beverly concluded as Jackie finished
her meal.  She lowered the infant to her knees and readjusted her
nightgown.
     "I guess so," Jean-Luc agreed, kissing her neck.
     "Stop that," Beverly chuckled, pushing him gently away. The 
expression she turned toward him was serious.  "Jean-Luc, this won't 
be the last time we have to face this problem."
     "I know," he said.
     "So what are we going to do about it?"
     He shrugged.  "I don't think there's anything we *can* do about
it.  We'll just have to face each situation as it arises, and try
to remember above all else that we love each other."
     She smiled at him, her face suddenly warm and inviting. 
"That's true," she said, leaning forward and kissing him
passionately.
     Jackie cooed with delight.

Amy M. Raduege                 |It is possible that blondes
[email-masked]     | also prefer gentlemen.  -Mamie Van Doren

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From: [email-masked] (Tinuviel)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Aftershock, part (6/8)
Date: 25 Feb 1995 05:44:13 GMT
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Disclaimer #1:  This story is by a hopeless romantic, and for hopeless
romantics.  If you are not one, this is not the story for you.

Disclaimer #2:  Paramount owns every person, place, and thing mentioned
in this story.  The story itself, for good or ill, belongs to me.

                              AFTERSHOCK

				part 6

     Jean-Luc Picard awakened with a smile on his face.  His wife
lay curled close beside him, her long red hair spilling softly
across his chest.  Deeply content, he reached out and gathered her
into his arms.
     She sighed and woke up.  "Good morning, darling."
     "Good morning."  He kissed the top of her head as she snuggled
against him.  The weight of her head on his shoulder was warm and
reassuring, comforting in the midst of so much uncertainty.  Her
hand rested lightly against his chest, absently tracing little
circles with her fingers.
     "I go on duty in an hour," he said.  "I have to brief General
Valok."
     She sighed.  "I know."
     "Beverly -"
     Something in his tone must have warned her; she withdrew her
hand and shifted so that she could meet his eyes.  "What?"
     "Beverly - I know you've enjoyed some time off, taking care of
Jackie, but...  I don't suppose you'd be willing to come back on
duty a little early?"
     She sat up and stared at him incredulously.  "You really mean
it?"
     "I do.  Something about this whole situation just strikes me
as... well, *wrong*.  I can't put my finger on anything and say
'this is what's bothering me', but I feel the need to be prepared
for any eventuality.  I want this ship's Chief Medical Officer to
be the best there is.  Dr. Selar's done an excellent job, but,
well, she's not you."
     Beverly's smile was radiant.  "When do I start?" she asked.

     Data sighed.
     "How's it going, Data?" Geordi asked, entering the lab with a
steaming mug of coffee in his hands.
     Data turned to look up at his friend.  "Not well, I am afraid. 
I believe I am experiencing a new emotion."
     "And what would you call this new emotion?"
     "I believe it is frustration."
     "I see."  Geordi took another sip of his coffee.  "Then the
question is:  what are you going to do about it?"
     Data frowned.  "In the past, I have often analyzed the
reactions of my friends and colleagues.  Captain Picard, for
instance, most typically responds to a frustrating situation by
maintaining an icy reserve.  Dr. Picard, on the other hand,
exhibits a disconcerting tendency to shout.  Commander Riker
swears, Counselor Troi employs Betazoid mind-relaxation techniques,
and Worf kills graphic incarnations on the holodeck.  However, I
have decided to employ *your* particular methodology."
     "And that is?"  There was no mistaking the amusement in the
engineer's voice.
     "I have decided to forge ahead, as it were, and not relent
until my goal has been accomplished."
     Geordi finished his coffee and set the empty mug in the
disposal.  "That's very flattering, Data.  But in the end, you're
going to have to find your own way to deal with these - more
turbulent -emotions."
     Data nodded.  "I know.  But you have a lifetime of feelings to
draw upon, and human intuition to guide you.  I possess neither of
those qualities."
     Geordi shook his head.  "All right, Data.  Whatever works. 
Now, what's causing your frustration?"
     The android swivelled back toward the computer display.  "The
Captain has asked me to find the cause of the destruction of the
Romulan and Federation planets.  Despite my best attempts, I have
been unable to do that."
     "Well, what have you found so far?"
     "Very little."  He called up a different image, this one a map
of the sector, displaying all relevant systems.  "The planets
destroyed are of no particular strategic or economic importance,
beyond that they all lie near the Neutral Zone.  Most were simply
colonies, two were scientific outposts, and one a recreational
outpost for Romulan Senators."
     Geordi frowned, peering closely at the screen.  "What about
the *order* in which they were destroyed?  Maybe there's a pattern
here, something we can chart, and then predict where it'll happen
next."
     Data entered a few commands, connecting the planets in
sequential order.  What was revealed most closely resembled Spot's
favorite strand of yarn:  tangled inextricably, and with no
particular pattern.
     "Well, so much for that theory," Geordi sighed.
     "I, too, discarded that possibility.  Then it occurred to me
that perhaps it was some aspect of the planets themselves which
enabled these disasters.  But I can find only one commonality: 
they all contain a core of ferrous metal."
     "Iron, eh?"  Geordi tapped his teeth thoughtfully.  "What
about the magnetic flux?"
     Data raised an eyebrow.  Quickly, he called up the
information.  "The magnetic flux of each planet displays a small
but significant disruption."
     "Enough to change a planet's orbit?"
     "Enough to shift the planet a few degrees," Data confirmed. 
"Yes, that would be sufficient."
     "Well then."  Geordi leaned forward, studying the display with
an almost palpable intensity.  "What could cause that?"
     "No known natural phenomenon has such an effect."  He paused,
considering.  "However, these patterns are reminiscent of an older
method of propulsion, discarded by the Federation in 2132.  It
involved using magnetic resonance to fuel the warp drive.  The
project was quickly abandoned, however.  It was deemed erratic,
unpredictable, inefficient, and unstable."
     Geordi pointed to the sector map again.  "That looks pretty
unpredictable to me."
     Data sat shock-still for a moment, and then his fingers began
to fly over the console.  
     "What are you doing, Data?"
     "If I am right, I will soon have a possible explanation to
offer Captain Picard."

     It felt good to be in uniform again, Beverly Picard decided as
she finished brushing her hair.  She loved her family beyond words,
but somehow being a full-time wife and mother wasn't enough.  She
needed to get back to her duties.
     She emerged from the bedroom to find her husband finishing
breakfast preparations, trying to balance two coffee mugs, a plate
of croissants, a bottle of milk, and Jackie - all in one arm.  The
other was laden with Jackie's favorite blanket, diapers, and a
stuffed bunny.
     "Here, let me help you with that," she chuckled, coming across
the room to gather her daughter into her arms.  "You don't need to
do everything all at once, you know." 
     His eyes lit up at the sight of her.  "You look wonderful. 
I'd forgotten how good that uniform looks on you."
     She could feel a faint blush warming her cheeks.  "Is that an
appropriate remark from the Captain of this ship to his Chief
Medical Officer?" she asked teasingly.
     "Probably not," he admitted.  "But it *is* an appropriate
observation from a devoted husband."
     She laughed lightly and set Jackie in her chair.  "Flattery
will get you everywhere, Captain."
     Their playful banter was interrupted by the chime of the door. 
"Come," they called as one.
     The doors slid aside to reveal Deanna Troi, looking more than
just a little stressed after her night on the bridge.  "Oh, good
morning, Captain," she said, sounding a little surprised to see him
there.  "I thought you'd be on the bridge."
     "Not quite yet," he admitted.  Then, shooting a teasing glance
at Beverly, he said, "My wife had other plans for me this morning."
     "Oh."  Deanna shifted her weight slightly, obviously unwilling
to interrupt what she thought she was interrupting.  "I was just
wondering if you'd be willing to let me borrow Jackie for the
morning.  I'd like to take her for a stroll in the arboretum."
     "Sure," Beverly Picard replied.  "She needs a babysitter
anyway."
     "Babysitter?" Deanna asked, and then realized that the doctor
was in uniform.  "Going back on duty?"
     "By order of the Captain," she replied, giving Jean-Luc a
tender smile.  "Seems he wants his staff back in place to deal with
this new threat."
     "A sensible decision," Deanna said.  "I can take the baby,
then?"
     "Absolutely.  Just let me get her things."
     "She likes to be cuddled," she heard him tell Deanna, lifting
his daughter out of her highchair and demonstrating.  "She's just
been fed; she'll probably take a nap fairly soon.  But she's in a
good mood this morning; you're lucky."
     Deanna received the baby into her arms with a curious
expression on her face.  "In some ways," she said softly.

     "That's it!" Geordi La Forge exclaimed excitedly.  "Data,
you've found it!"
     "This is merely the most likely explanation," Data replied
calmly, though a broad smile illumed his face.  "I could be wrong."
     Geordi wasn't listening.  "It's the only explanation that
covers everything.  Data, you did it!"  He slapped the android on
the back, then wished he hadn't.  Data's back was considerably more
solid than the human equivalent.
     Data continued to look skeptical.  "It is certainly possible,"
he agreed finally.  "Now the question is:  how will the Captain
take the news?"

     The air of the arboretum was cool and refreshing, a pleasant
change from the tensions of the bridge.  Unfortunately,  her three
companions were less appreciative than she, and Deanna was
beginning to wish that she hadn't thought it up.
     That was when things began to go seriously wrong.

     "An *accident*?" the Captain demanded incredulously.
     "That is correct, sir," Data replied, so calmly that for a
moment Geordi wondered if the android hadn't removed his emotion
chip for this encounter.  "It seems that someone as yet
unidentified has developed a warp drive similar to one discarded by
the Federation many years ago.  The primitive nature of this warp
drive suggests that this may be their first attempt at interstellar
travel.  Further, the pathway of the destruction is erratic and
unpredictable, suggesting that the ship is no longer under the
strict control of its occupants."
     "An accident?" Captain Picard repeated.  "Nine planets
destroyed, billions of people killed, and you're telling me it's
all because of some colossal *mistake*?"
     "Actually, it's kind of surprising this sort of thing doesn't
happen more often," Geordi put in.  "Achieving interplanetary
travel is a difficult thing, and sometimes we really don't know the
long-term consequences.  I mean, look at how recently we discovered
that our own warp technology is damaging the fabric of the
universe.  If we're encountering a new culture just venturing out
into space...."
     Picard's face remained calm, but Geordi knew him well enough
to see the thunder behind his eyes.  "Can we track them?" 
     Data considered.  "A warp technology employing magnetic fields
would leave a residual trace in the surrounding subspace.  A minor
modification of our forward sensors should enable us to follow
their trail."
     For a moment, the Captain simply sat there.  His expression
did not change in the slightest, but Geordi had the impression that
he was making a determined effort to get his temper under control. 
Then he nodded tersely.
     "Make it so," he said.  

     Beverly Picard was in sickbay, going about her duties as Chief
Medical Officer of the _Enterprise_.   She tried not to smile in
delight as she tended the minor hurts and ailments of the crew;
they might mistake her joviality for a lack of respect for their
injuries, instead of her joy at being back where she belonged.
     She recognized Jackie's outraged wails well before the doors
hissed open.  Beverly winced; her daughter had a powerful set of
lungs, and was showing signs of developing the legendary Howard
temper.
     The doors opened to admit a haggard-looking Deanna Troi,
wearing an expression that said she wished she was anywhere but
here.  There was mud splattered on her pink pantsuit, and twigs
tangled in her hair.
     Beverly raised an eyebrow, but she wasn't quite finished with
her patient yet.  Quickly, she finished healing the sprained ankle,
then fixed the young ensign with a stern glare.  "Next time, young
man, I'd advise you to program a few less boulders into the river. 
White water rafting can be dangerous, and next time it might not be
so easy to fix."
     The ensign grinned.  "Yes, ma'am."
     He gave her a cocky salute - an outdated gesture if ever there
was one - and slipped down from the biobed.  Beverly pocketed her
tricorder and crossed the room to her screaming daughter.
     "Now, what seems to be the trouble here?" she asked, gathering
the disgruntled baby into her arms.  She kissed the tiny head,
bouncing the baby slightly to quiet her.  "Hush, Jackie.  There's
nothing wrong with you."
     "No, she's fine," said Deanna wearily.  "*I'm* about ready to
jump off the port nacelle, but Jackie's fine."
     Beverly flashed her an amused glance and indicated her office
with a nod of her head.  "Why don't you come in and tell me about
it?"
     Deanna followed her into the office and flopped
unceremoniously unto the consultation couch.  "Ugh.  I don't even
know where to start."
     "Don't be stuffy," Beverly said, patting her daughter's back
comfortingly.  "Start at the middle and work outward."
     Deanna did.  "I should have known things would go wrong when
Worf started grunting," she admitted ruefully.
     "Grunting?"
     "You know."  She produced a fair imitation of Worf's unhappy
grumbling.  "He wouldn't talk to me.  And then Alexander fell into
the pond -"
     "That's how you got mud all over you, I assume."
     "- and I gave Jackie to Worf so that I could clean Alexander
up, and Worf held her like she was an arboreal death adder, or some
other venomous creature."
     Beverly couldn't help smiling at the image.  "I can see how
Jackie wouldn't appreciate that."
     "It's not funny, Beverly," Deanna told her seriously.
     "I'm sure it's not," she agreed, chuckling.
     "You," Deanna told her, "are no help at all."
     "Deanna," said Beverly, laying a reassuring hand on her
friend's arm.  "Don't be so upset.  Jackie wasn't permanently
damaged, and as far as I can see, the only thing you did wrong was
handing her to Worf in the first place.  Didn't you know that Worf
dislikes babies?"  
     "I do now."  Deanna sighed wistfully.  "It'll be a long time
before I try anything like that again." 
     Beverly shifted the baby in her lap.  "Well, you're off duty
now, so you can go back to your quarters and sleep.  You'll feel
better after that."
     "Mmm.  That's really not fair, you know."
     "What?"
     "That."  With one accusing finger, she pointed to the baby,
who was now playing happily in her mother's arms.  "Do you have any
idea how hard I tried to calm her down?"
     Beverly laughed.  "A mother's touch, I suppose."
     "Well, I think I'll go back to my quarters and take a nap. 
This day hasn't started out too well; maybe I'd better give it
another try."
     At the moment, the Captain's voice came over the intercom. 
"Senior officers, please report to the bridge."
     Deanna sighed.  "Well, so much for that nap."

Amy M. Raduege                 |It is possible that blondes
[email-masked]     | also prefer gentlemen.  -Mamie Van Doren
 
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From: [email-masked] (Tinuviel)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Aftershock, part (7/8)
Date: 25 Feb 1995 05:51:25 GMT
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I don't know about the rest of you, but some of this came as a surprise
to me.  :)

Disclaimer #1:  The hopeless romantic stuff again.

Disclaimer #2:  Paramount owns every person, place, and thing mentioned
in this story.

                      AFTERSHOCK
			part 7

    The _Enterprise_ dropped out of warp in a dazzling display of
light and color, perfectly paralleling the movements of the Romulan bird
of prey flanking her.  
     The atmosphere on the bridge was strained, to say the least. 
The Captain held his chin in his fist, his brow furrowed and his
jaw clamped tightly shut.  Riker sat leaning forward, hands braced
against his knees like a cat ready to spring.  From tactical, Worf
glowered over them all, a silent and foreboding sentinel. 
      Quickly, Troi crossed the bridge and sat down; Beverly, after
a worried glance at her husband, took a position just beyond Riker.
     "What's going on?" Deanna asked quietly.
     "We're tracking the enemy ship," Riker answered.
     "Alien ship detected," Data announced.  "Fifty billion
kilometers and closing."  He entered a few more commands.  "Coming
into range visual range now."
     "On screen."  The Captain rose to his feet, tugging his jacket
into place.
     A breathtaking field of stars spread out before them,
perforated by a small ship veering wildly from its course, if
indeed it had a course at all.  It zigged and zagged erratically,
sometimes even looping through its own path, lurching forward at
warp speed one moment, and shuddering to an almost-halt the next.
     Deanna felt sickened.  The waves of hopelessness, of despair,
of fear, emanating from that ship were almost overwhelming.  She
carefully raised her mental barriers, and the waves receded. 
"Captain-" she began.
     He didn't hear her.  "Is there anybody even *piloting* that
thing?"  he asked, lurching to his feet.
     Data frowned at his console.  "Sensors indicate fifty-two
life-forms aboard the alien vessel," he confirmed.  "More than
that, I cannot say."
     "Captain -" Deanna began again, and then his attention was
consumed by other matters.

     "Sir, the Romulan bird of prey is powering up their forward
disrupter array," Worf announced from tactical.  
     "At us?"  He couldn't believe it.  Why now, when they were so
close to solving this mystery?
     "No, sir.  At the alien ship."
     Picard bit back an angry curse.  "Hail them."
     Worf tried.  "They are not responding."
     "Disrupters are at a sufficient intensity to completely
annihilate the alien ship," Data said.
     Picard clenched his jaw, fervently hoping that his next
decision was the right one.  "Mr. Worf, aim photons at the Romulan
weapons banks and fire."
     "Aye, sir," Worf replied with a great deal of satisfaction.
     Bursts of energy ripped away from the _Enterprise_ and
impacted with dreadful beauty against the Romulan ship.
     "Weapons systems destroyed, sir," Worf announced.
     General Valok appeared on the viewscreen.  "Picard!" he
demanded angrily.  "What is the meaning of this?"
     "General Valok."  He couldn't keep the ire from his voice.  "I
might ask you the same thing."
     The Romulan lifted his chin.  "I will not stand by and let
anyone destroy six Romulan planets and get by with it," he said
coldly.
     "I assure you, Valok, that should we discover that these
people committed these atrocities knowingly or willingly, they will
answer to *both* our governments.  But they cannot answer for
anything if they are dead."
     "They have committed murder," Valok said.  "In a Romulan
court, that is cause for execution."
     "This is not a Romulan court, Valok.  And you are not a jury."
     Valok's face was hard as stone.  "I am a duly appointed
official of the Romulan Senate, Picard.  In this situation, I am
all the jury required."
     "For Romulus, perhaps.  You cannot, do not, and will not stand
for the Federation."
     "The Federation is weak, Picard.  You do not punish as crimes
deserve.  You are willing to let the deaths of thousands of
children go unpunished."  Valok's face was hard as stone, but
something deeper lingered behind his eyes.  "Children, Picard.  How
would you feel if it had been *your* daughter on one of those
planets?"
     "I can't answer that," he replied, and then - "Are you saying
-?"
     The general's face was filled with cold defiance.  "Yes.  My
wife and daughter were on Ariaka when it was destroyed."  He
remained quiet a moment, and then added, "She was only six."
     Picard felt a wave of sympathy for the man.  This was not a
Romulan talking to a Terran, this was one father sharing his grief
with another.  Jackie was only an infant, just beginning to be a
person, but already she was dearer to him than life itself. 
     He could not resist glancing at his wife.  Beverly sat still
and passive in her place, but her face had gone pale, and her eyes
were filled with shadows.  Beverly knew she was thinking of the
little girl on Bett'au VII, the little girl she had not quite been
able to save, and another little girl she called her own.
     What would it be like, he wondered, to lose that little girl
six years from now?  
     Still, his fundamental beliefs would not let him go so easily,
and the old adage 'an eye for an eye' tended to leave everybody
blind.
     "I am sorry for your loss, Valok," he said quietly.  "I cannot
imagine what you must be going through.  But I *do* know that
destroying that ship will not bring your daughter back."
     "It will not," said Valok, colder than the depths of space. 
"But I *will* have my revenge, Picard."
     "Maybe," he agreed.  "But not today."  He made a short,
chopping gesture at Worf, and the general's image disappeared from
the viewsceen.
     Picard sighed, feeling suddenly older than the universe, and
just as cold.
     And he still had work to do.
     He returned to the command center.  "Mr. Data, can we
establish communications with the alien vessel?"
     Data frowned.  "Yes, sir.  Their communication and sensor
systems are primitive, but they do have visual capabilities."
     Picard nodded.  "All right, then.  Hail them.  Let's see what
they have to say for themselves."
     The image that appeared on the screen was only faintly
humanoid.  Large, slitted eyes regarded them distantly, the
expression in them almost impossible to determine.  Picard glanced
at his crew, but none of them showed any signs of recognition.
     "Who are you?" it asked, its voice rasping and musical all at
once, like velvet on sandpaper.
     Slowly, Picard rose to his feet.  "I am Captain Jean-Luc
Picard of the Federation starship _Enterprise_," he said.
     The creature regarded him from unblinking eyes.  "What do you
want?" it asked.
     Well, that was abrupt enough.  "We wanted to talk to you about
some planets you may have encountered," he said.  
     The screen went blank.
     For a moment, Picard simply stood there, too stunned to even
be angry.  Then Riker said, "We must've hit a nerve."
     Worf growled.  "They are too dishonorable even to admit their
crime."
     "No, that's not it," Troi said urgently.  "Captain, you must
listen to these people.  They're *terrified*."
     Startled, the Captain turned to her.  "Terrified?  Of what?"
     Troi's expression grew distant as she tried to probe the alien
ship.  "Of ... us.  They saw us turn our phasers on the Romulans. 
And... they're far from home, lost... they don't know how to get
back."
     So Data had been right.  Mentally, Picard reminded himself
never to doubt his officer again.
     Picard looked toward his other officers.  Geordi stood at the
engineering station, looking helpless.  Riker's gaze rested on
Troi, then slid away uncertainly.  Worf looked like he'd just as
soon destroy them all, and have done.  And Beverly...  She remained
silent, but he knew her too well not to understand her expression: 
there's been enough death.
     He made his decision.
     "Hail them again, Mr. Worf." 
     The image appeared on the screen again. 
     "Leave us alone," the creature said.
     Picard shook his head.  "Oh, no.  I can't do that.  Your
technology is believed to be responsible for the destruction of
nine planets in this sector.  We cannot let you go without at least
preventing the possibility of more destruction.  And..." he paused,
glancing uncertainly at the ship's counselor.  She nodded
encouragingly, and he continued.  "We have reason to believe you
may require our assistance."
     The creature hesitated.  "You... would help... us?"
     "We will gladly lend whatever aid we can," he said.  "Will you
permit us to help you?"
     The creature now regarded him with unmistakable suspicion. 
"At what price?"
     Had they encountered the Ferengi?  "Only that you let us learn
more about your people, and that your solemn word never to allow
such catastrophies to happen again."
     There was a brief pause.  "That is acceptable."
     A very succinct people, at least.  "Very well.  Commander
Riker, prepare an away team.  Let's see what we can do."
     Riker nodded shortly.  "All right.  Geordi, Data, Worf, and
Dr. Picard.  Let's go."
     The Captain rose to his feet.  It was the first time since
their marriage that he'd had to let Beverly go into such a
dangerous mission.  Even on Bett'au VII, she'd been reasonably
safe.  These aliens could still be hostile, could rip the away team
apart in a matter of seconds if they so chose.  Part of him wanted
to go to her, to stop her from going or at least to kiss her good-
bye, but he knew that wouldn't be appropriate.  She had her duties
to perform, and he couldn't ask her to be less than what she was.
     Besides, she'd proven time and again that she was more than
able to take care of herself.
     Beverly, however, sensed his uncertainty.  She stopped as she
passed in front of him, giving his hand a surreptitious squeeze. 
"I'll be all right," she promised, her voice carrying no further
than his ear.  
     Then she stepped onto the turbolift and was gone.
     The Captain settled into the reassuring embrace of his command
chair and steeled himself to wait.

     The room into which the away team materialized was like
nothing Riker had ever seen.  The lighting was dim, the temperature
far too high, and the ship seemed to lean in on itself.  Even
during their encounter with Gomptuu, the lines had been smooth and
flowing, and so, vaguely familiar.  There was nothing familiar
about this ship.
     The creatures started as they appeared, shying away from them. 
They were considerably smaller than they had appeared on the
viewscreen; even the tallest came no higher than his elbow.
     Riker put up his hands, showing that they were empty. 
(Hopefully, the aliens wouldn't recognize the phasers hanging at
their hips for what they were.)  "We're here to help," he said
softly.  
     Dr. Picard moved forward.  One of the aliens was injured, or
so it seemed:  a bright, orangish fluid seeped forth from one of
its limbs, and its color was a little less green than its
compatriots. 
     The creature shied away from her approach.
     "No, it's okay; I'm a doctor.  I just want to be sure you're
all right."  With a smile that would have disarmed a Borg, she
moved toward it again.
     The thing simply skittered further away.
     Dr. Picard heaved an exasperated sigh, flicking a reproving
glance at Riker.  "This is going to take a long time if they keep
this up."  Making sure that she had the creature's attention - it
wasn't hard to do, all eyes in the room were on her - she turned
the tricorder on herself, using it to show that it would do them no
harm.  Then she approached the alien again.
     It quivered, but let her examine its arm.
     Riker watched as she studied the readout, saw the unhappy
frown on her face.  "What is it?" he asked.
     "Their physiology's completely different from ours.  It's
going to take me a moment to see if the tricorder can come up with
anything similar."  She paused, thoughtfully biting her lower lip. 
"Ah, yes.  Let's see.  If I just make this go this way...  Yes. 
That should work.  Here."
     Riker had no idea what she was talking about, but he watched
as Picard administered a drug into the alien's system.
     The creature stared at her, its eyes going very, very wide,
and then it said something to its companions.  Riker didn't quite
catch the comment, but it must have been favorable, for suddenly
the aliens were all crowding around the doctor, touching her face,
her hands, her hair, with wondering curiosity.
     Picard looked faintly alarmed, but she made no move to resist.
     After that, the aliens seemed more inclined to trust them. 
They skittered away from Riker and Data, but they watched with wary
interest as Geordi and the android set about repairing their warp
drive, and they allowed Picard to treat their injuries, following
her around like large, faintly reptilian puppies.
     "They must have been through hell," Dr. Picard said, wiping
the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve.  "They're
suffering from things as basic as broken bones and malnutrition. 
I'll have to see what I can do to get them some food."  Then her
face blanked.  "But I have no idea what they eat."
     Riker shook his head.  "Do you have a leader?" he asked the
nearest alien.
     The thing shied away from him.
     Riker sighed.  "Maybe you should try it," he suggested to
Beverly.  "They seem to trust you."
     She heard the frustration in his voice and smiled.  "It's just
because I healed them.  People are always willing to trust somebody
who's made them well."
     Riker grunted.
     "Could you tell me who's in charge?" she asked.
     The alien regarded her suspiciously for a moment.
     Then another voice said, "I am."
     The creatures parted to let another of their number through. 
This one was slightly taller than the others, slightly bigger of
build, and it bore itself with an unmistakable air of command. 
Riker thought he recognized the alien who had spoken with the
Captain.
     "I am X'Pet," it said.  "I command this sad vessel."
     Beverly smiled.  "I am Doctor Beverly Picard," she said,
speaking slowly and clearly.  "I'm the chief medical officer of the
_Enterprise_.  This is Commander Will Riker, our First Officer."
     "How do you do?" Riker said, feeling awkward and out of place.
     X'Pet bowed.  "We are grateful for your assistance.  We have
been drifting a long time."
     "Well, maybe we can change all that.  After we've fixed the
problems here, we'll tow you home."
     He was surprised to see a melancholy expression cross the
alien's face.  "I am afraid that will not be possible," X'Pet said,
and there was no mistaking the sadness in its voice.  "We cannot go
home again, for there is no home awaiting us.  We are the last of
the V'Shnar.  Our planet was destroyed more than a year ago."

Amy M. Raduege                 |It is possible that blondes
[email-masked]     | also prefer gentlemen.  -Mamie Van Doren
 
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From: [email-masked] (Tinuviel)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Aftershock, part (8/8)
Date: 25 Feb 1995 18:21:56 GMT
Organization: Division of Information Technology
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Whew!  It actually turned out to be 8 parts!  This is what happens
when you don't plan ahead...

Next time, if there is a 'next time', I will actually write the whole
thing before I post it. :)

Disclaimer #1:  This story is by and for hopeless romantics.  There is
absolutely no intrigue, strategy, or such in this segment AT ALL.  It's
just wrapping things up.

Disclaimer #2:  Paramount owns everybody, everything, and everyplace
mentioned in this story lock, stock, and barrel.  

                          AFTERSHOCK
		            part 8

     "Fifty-two people," the Captain whispered.  "Fifty-two of an
entire race."
     He remembered the horror he'd felt when he'd learned that
Robert and Rene had been killed.  When the old _Enterprise_ was
destroyed.  His world had literally come crashing down around him. 
But at least he could go home again, go back to Earth and France
and all the places that he loved.  The V'Shnar no longer could.  
     "The technology which destroyed so many of our planets was
also responsible for the loss of their own," Data said, his voice
cool and pitying.  "Thus, they discovered their mistake almost
instantly, but they could no longer go home to repair it."
     What would it be like, he wondered, to be responsible for the
destruction of your own planet?  And nine others? 
     "And they've been wandering about this part of the galaxy ever
since," Riker added.
     "What do we do with them now?" asked Beverly.  "We can't just
leave them out here, with no warp, very limited power, and the
Romulans determined to extirminate them.  They wouldn't survive."
     "And they still must face the punishment for their actions,"
put in Worf.
     Geordi looked at him with disbelief.  "You want to do
something *worse* to them than give them the knowledge that they
destroyed their own planet and nine others?"
     "There's been enough death," Beverly agreed.  "I, for one,
don't want to fill out any more death certificates for a good long
time."
     "From the reports of the away team, these are a very timid,
reclusive people," Troi added.  "They didn't do this deliberately
or maliciously.  It was a *mistake*.  A terrible mistake, to be
sure, but an mistake all the same."
     "Ignorance is not an excuse," Worf began.
     "I tend to agree with the Counselor and Geordi," said Picard,
waving aside the argument boiling among his officers.  "We can't do
anything worse to them than they've already done to themselves. 
Yesterday, I would have been willing to destroy them.  Today, I am
not.  The time for vengeance is over.  It is time to let them
heal."
     
Captain's Log, Stardate 49002.5  In accordance with the wishes of
Starfleet Command, we have taken the V'Shnar ship in tow and are
returning to Federation space.  There, a board of inquiry will have
to be joined, but given the circumstances it is quite likely that
those few remaining will be given a planet on which to reestablish
their species.  In the meantime, we are learning all we can about
this new culture.
     On a happier note, there will be a reception tonight to
acknowledge the arrival of Admiral Alynna Nechayev.  She has come
aboard to aid in negotiations with the Romulans, who still believe
the remaining V'Shnar should be executed, and to meet the fifty-two
remaining.  Counselor Troi has taken the preparations in hand,
insisting that this will be a good way to release the tension that
has been building up among my crew.

     Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood uncertainly in front of the
mirror, readjusting the collar of his dress uniform for the
thousandth time.  
     "Stop that.  You'll ruin the lines," said his wife, coming up
to stand behind him.  She smiled and smoothed the front of his
jacket.  "The designer put a lot of thought into these things."
     "Then the designer was either an idiot or a sadist," Jean-Luc
replied, taking her into his arms.  "You look marvelous."
      Unlike her husband, Madame Picard had the option of not
wearing her dress uniform - an option she'd willingly exercised. 
Instead, she wore a stunning dark blue gown, cut low against the
creamy skin of her shoulders and slit up one side, for dancing. 
     Beverly grinned mischievously.  "Why, thank you, Captain
Picard."
     He sighed and released her.
     "What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.
     He shook his head.  "Nothing.  Old ghosts."
     Beverly laid a comforting hand against his arm. "Is there
anything I can do?" she asked, her eyes dark with concern.
     Jackie, oblivious to the mood of her parents,  waved her arms
enthusiastically and laughed with delight at her accomplishment.
     Jean-Luc began to feel a little, just a very little, better.
     "It seems I have everything I could want," he told his wife,
kissing her reassuringly on the nose.  "Are we ready?"
     "All ready."  Gently, Beverly gathered Jackie into her arms,
taking the time to straighten her little dress before turning back
toward him.  "Let's go."

     The reception was in full swing by the time the Picards
arrived.  Geordi descended on them at once, gleefully taking Jackie
from her mother's care, and several of the V'Shnar surrounded him,
curious to see the baby.  Admiral Nechayev stood nearby, talking to
X'Pet, and the other officers were scattered around the room,
laughing and talking and dancing.
     He saw the wistful look in Beverly's eye as she watched her
friends moving through the slow and stately rhythm of the waltz. 
He repressed a grin; he had a little surprise for her. 
     "Would you care to dance?" he asked his wife gallantly.
     Her delighted smile was all the answer he needed.  He led her
onto the floor and took her into his arms. 
     He led  her effortlessly through a complicated series of
steps.  "You've been practicing," she said, her blue eyes gleaming
with amusement.
     "You noticed," he said, smiling in return, and then sighed
heavily.
     "Penny," she said softly.
     "I was just thinking about the V'Shnar," he said.  "One
experiment run amuck, and now they have to start over.  Is fifty-
two enough to reestablish a species?"
     "It will have to be," she said.  "But they've got our
scientists and technology working for them, too; they'll make it. 
And families can grow at an alarming rate."  She smiled teasingly.
     His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.  "And will they be able
to live, knowing what they've done?  Will they be able to establish
a home again after such a tragedy?"
     "Oh, I don't know," she said lightly.  "*We've* certainly
managed to recover nicely."
     Picard followed her eyes around the room.  Riker stood not far
away, a pretty ensign on his arm.  Deanna coached Alexander through
his first waltz, while Worf looked on with a peculiar tenderness on
his face.  Data was telling jokes - badly, but not as badly as he
once had.  And Geordi sat at the bar, dandling little Jackie on his
knee.  The sound of the baby's laugh floated across the room and
brushed his ears like the promise of angels.
     Their baby.
     In the aftershock of losing the old _Enterprise_, of the death
of his brother and nephew, Jean-Luc Picard had thought he might
never feel whole again.  So much guilt.  So much wasted time.  But
Jackie had changed all that.  Jackie... and her mother.
     The Captain turned his gaze back to his wife, smiled into her
glorious eyes.  Her face was radiant as sunshine.  In spite of the
number of people in the room, Jean-Luc leaned over and kissed her
cheek.  "We *have* done rather nicely at that, haven't we?"  
     "I'd say so," she agreed, moving closer to him as the music
slowed.  Picard wrapped his arms around her and held her close, her
body soft and warm against his.
     Picard felt a surge of contentment.  His friends were all
here.  His family.  He couldn't change the past, couldn't restore
the worlds that were lost, but he could keep the memory of such
things alive.  And in the new _Enterprise_, perhaps they could
prevent such tragedies in the future.  
     And with that thought, he realized something.  The
_Enterprise_ had finally become more than just a ship, more than a
huge vessel sailing through the stars.  His wedding celebration had
been held here, in this very room.  His daughter had been born in
this ship's sickbay.  It was here she would take her first steps,
say her first words, here she would learn to talk.  Deanna would be
her surrogate aunt; Geordi and Will and Data and Worf her uncles. 
The ship would be filled with laughter and friendship and love,
everything that it should be.  Safe.  Familiar.  Comfortable.
     Home.

 THE END.

Amy M. Raduege                 |It is possible that blondes
[email-masked]     | also prefer gentlemen.  -Mamie Van Doren