ten_fwd | Wakes

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Wakes

The nightmares were particularly bad tonight. There was a smell to them. Burnt polymers, dry sand, and something decaying. Someone...or was it something? It was talking in a voice that sounded far away, yet at the same time cloying, choking, drowning. A death rattle voice.

An interesting notion I do not share. It rasped mockingly. You may leave now; if you wish.

But she couldn't leave. There had been a logic to the dream where she couldn't leave. She stepped in front of Data. She couldn't recall what she said. She was talking and moving, focusing this thing's attention on her. Then the dream shifted and she was flying and when she landed there was nothing.

She took a deep breath in and tried opening her eyes. Her chest hurt. Everything hurt. She redoubled her efforts, took the next breath in and opened her eyes only to discover she had a sizable headache. There was an unhappy gasp as she pulled herself up to a seating position and marveled at the fact she hadn't felt this bad since the day after the Tchaikovsky problem. Whatever this was, she'd check in with Dr. Crusher if she felt any worse.

"Computer, give me the time."

"The time is 0713 hours and 17 seconds."

Tasha spat out something short, scandalous, and to the point that covered her irritation with being nearly late. No time for a shower. Good thing she had fallen asleep in uniform again. She made herself leave the bed, throws on her boots, runs her fingers through her honey blonde hair, and starts out the door.

In her somewhat sleep-and-pain fogged state, she didn't notice some things she should have, like the differences in the few uniformed officers passing her in this early hour. It was only when she entered the lift and ordered it to the bridge that she encountered her first problem.

"Bridge."

The turbolift didn't budge. She repeated herself.

"Bridge!"

Still nothing.

She sighed. There must be some kind of maintenance going on. Damn annoying.

She touched her badge. "Yar to bridge."

Silence. The communicator was unresponsive.

She let out a huff and made a note to go to the gym this evening to take all of this out on the punching bags. Think, Tasha!

Most of the primary bridge crew would not be on at this hour. Will could be busy. Data could be up there, or he could be tinkering with the lifts. Either way, she wasn't much interested in presenting herself to his cheerful demeanor while she was like this. Same thing with Geordi. She could get Worf, but he would have just gotten off shift and he needed to understand what "time off" meant - even if she had a poor grasp of it herself. That left:

"Yar to Captian Picard."

[OOC note: Picard gets to be tortured first and without back-up. The next post is going to be open. Thank you.]

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This time, the communicator does respond.

Picard, seated at his desk in his ready room, receives the communication. It will be several long seconds before he acknowledges.

"This is Picard," he says, voice measured. "Repeat to whom I'm speaking?"

He cannot have heard correctly.

"It's Lieutenant Yar, sir. I'm sorry I'm late."

There's a pause while she makes herself stop fidgeting. "There might be something wrong with my communicator. Also, can you tell me when the turbolifts will be back online?" A trace of humor bubbles up from her frustration. "I mean I can get up there without the lifts, but it would eat into my shift."

"Late?" Picard repeats aloud, more to himself than to the lieutenant.

This must be a prank, or at the very worst Q is having a laugh at his expense once more. No, Tasha Yar is dead. Not even he could raise the dead. Picard feels anger bubble up. Tasha was not only one of his officers, but she meant a great deal to him. To sully her memory in this way will not be tolerated.

"State your location," he says, indignation lacing the command. He quite purposely avoids using her name.

This was apparently not the day to be late for duty.

"Turbolift 5, deck 2."

Exactly where I would logically be walking from my quarters to the lift. She thinks, but doesn't say out loud. Something is tickling her instincts about Captain Picard's tone, and she hopes this is just another overreaction on her part.

Edited (clarification, capitalization) 2015-01-19 06:05 (UTC)

"I'm on my way," he says, rising to his feet. "Stay where you are."

Yes, logically that is where Tasha would be coming from. Two years previous to the current date.

There are a great many things Picard could say to her, but before he acts rashly he wants to see what is going on with his own eyes. The voice sounds like Tasha's, certainly. However, that doesn't necessarily mean anything these days, with Q heralding people about from different timelines and alternative universes.

He leaves his ready room and enters the turbolift, giving the command that takes him to Deck 2 and on to her location. A part of him, it must be said, hopes there is nothing to see when he arrives there.

Tasha's eyebrows fly into her bangs and she sucks in a breath through her teeth. Something is wrong. Whatever it was, it's not deadly or else he wouldn't be coming off the bridge to talk to her. He'd summon one of the men she worked with.

5 minutes are like five hours in here, and it makes her focus on the head and body aches which only dulled because she had something else to focus on. She breathed out with her lower lip, flipping her bangs up for a moment, and reminded herself to get a haircut no matter how much her insistence on short hair annoyed the ship's barber.

Stretch. Fidget. Stretch some more. Seriously consider climbing the lift's shaft. Cycle through possible security scenarios which would require ~~Jean-Luc~~ Captain Picard to be coming to see her in person.

She was so lost in thought her back was turned to the door when the door opens. She turns quickly in surprise to face her Captain.

There are two operations officers with Picard when the door opens. It may frustrate or perplex her to note that they are not faces she recognizes, having been assigned following her death, but their presence may pale in comparison to the expression on Captain Picard's face.

So. It is her. Or a reasonable enough facsimile of her to pass on first glance.

"Tasha," he says, as if genuinely surprised to see her. You see, he is. "But it is not possible."

She frowns. She takes in the view of the junior officers. Strangers - and the uniforms...

Her eyes move off the officers (and their phasers) and focuses on Captain Picard's face. His hazel eyes are boring into her and his lips are nearly bloodless. He looks...horrified? With her?

It's making her feel disgustingly small. And he just used her first name. He doesn't do that except privately or, maybe, in front of only the closest of senior officers. She doesn't understand what's going on, but whatever is going on she'll get through it; assuring her Captain that she's not something he needs to concern himself with.

She pushes away the shock at his appearance, her physical pain, and anything else that would get in the way of what she'll say next. Squaring her shoulders, she replies.

"Lieutenant Tasha Yar, reporting for duty, sir." There's a pause and confusion creeps into her voice. "Status report?"

Edited (spelling, pronoun change) 2015-01-19 07:45 (UTC)

The words cut to the quick. No illusion could capture so perfectly Natasha Yar, with all her fierce professionalism. Picard is forced to draw in a breath to steady his nerves.

He glances back at the officers accompanying him, and gives a brief nod. They relax, and take a few steps back.

"Very good, Lieutenant Yar," Picard says, endeavoring to find the best way of approaching the situation. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"Waking up this morning, sir," is the offered reply. Then, she adds, with her professionalism slipping ever so slightly and showing Picard that other side he's seen more often than almost anyone: That slightly girlish, out-of-her-depth demeanor she has when her emotions or impulsiveness rear their heads and threaten her attempts at being the perfect, conscientious officer. "I...overslept." She then sighs and admits, "And, honestly, sir. I feel like hell."

He can see her mentally chastising herself for sounding like a sick child reporting to her father - but only because he knows her that well.

So he does, but in this moment he pushes all other thought from his mind.

"And before that?" he presses carefully. "Do you remember?"

She furrows her brows, shaking her head lightly while searching her memories. What does she remember?

This court should get down on its knees...

It never happened!

No! The challenge is unequivocally refused.

Just try it, Ferengi!

Now, run! This place isn't safe at all!

Things are coming faster now.

When one is in the penalty box...

What of Justice to Wesley? Does he deserve to die?

I don't know how we'll defeat the next one!

"It's stardate 41601.3," she reported slowly, not looking up. Tasha's voice takes on a light chuckle. "It's been quiet lately. I've been overseeing maintenance and remodeling with Chief Engineer Logan as well as Commander Data and Lieutenant LaForge."

The Three Musketeers and the pompous windbag, she thinks briefly before quashing the impulse to tell Picard that's what the whole exercise felt like to her. She shouldn't report how many time she'd been tempted to knock Logan out so they could get on with the work. Geordi knew more about the conduits than Logan had and had a saint's patience on top of it. Data was, of course, Data, and not everyone could handle that. There's was a note in her report about Logan's manners and that was how professionals operated.

"Last night, I was able to return to my normal bridge shift and after that -" She shrugged and looks up with more focus and her shoulder square again. "That's probably why I'm sore, sir. I was practicing last night for the martial arts competition the security team is holding this week."

What she just gave is not the right answer. The witnessing officers look confused. Picard looks...

"Captain," she takes a step forward. "Tell me what's going on. Please!" Whatever is going on has him looking at her like she's some kind of broken thing. "This - Whatever this is, it isn't right!"

Captain Picard feels stabbed to his heart at her words, but he endeavors not to let it show. The experiences she's recounting, the stardate — no, she is right about one thing. None of this is right.

He must school his expression, and though he stands tall his fists clench at his sides. Tasha Yar always was an immaculate officer, disciplined, well-trained, thoughtful, thorough. Echoes of her past did not often come up, and when they did it was his responsibility to temper them with compassion. She has made a request of him, and he would not deny her the answer she seeks.

"Lieutenant Yar," he begins with the same softness he used earlier when calling her Tasha. "I'm afraid the stardate is 44046.7. You have not been aboard the Enterprise for more than two years."

Picard watches as shock turns her deathly pale and light dims from her green eyes.

AWOL.

How did she become that? Where would she even think of going? There was nothing for her anywhere in the universe then here on this ship! She betrayed them. She betrayed Starfleet and everything she believed in or dared to love.

And that hideous voice from her dream burbles up to her consciousness. Did you ever believe you could do anything else? It rattles once before adding. Girl.

She looks away. He watches her center herself slowly; with closed eyes because the tears are coming. She takes in a rattling breath.

"Then," she says in a choked voice. "Under Starfleet regulations regarding officers in deriliction of duty..." She slowly - to show her lack of aggression - unclips the belt holding her phaser and lets it fall. Then she removes her badge and places it in his hand briefly before stepping to the side and looking beyond him.

She nods to the other two officers. "Please," she asks them. "Don't make the Captain take me to the brig. He -" Her voice quavers and she needs a moment to look away.

This is not Q's "penalty box." She won't cry here.

It's only then she makes eye contact again with Picard. "He needs to assemble the senior staff and alert Starfleet regarding my status."

Picard watches her, oh yes. And he can read the succession of thoughts passing through her mind almost as easily as if she had spoken them aloud. He does not do her the injustice of presuming, neither does he move in to console her — not immediately, at any rate. She needs to center herself, and he won't interrupt that.

"Yes, in due time," he says, nodding softly. He then turns to the officers, who look more confused than ever, and nods to the discarded phaser. "You may take the lieutenant's weapon and escort us to Sickbay, but she will not be seeing the brig today."

He hastens to add, turning back to Tasha: "That's an order, lieutenant."

If she is the Tasha he remembers, he is aware that nothing less will convince her. She believes she is a deserter, and as such a brigging would be no less than what she deserves. The truth is perhaps far worse than what she can imagine, and he would rather Beverly were at his side for it than imparting it from the other side of a cell.

He knows her well enough that she barely got her mouth open to try and object.

There a faintest hint of an embarrassed grimace, because - for a split second - she found that sexy. While no time is the time, this really is not the time!

She obviously needs to work on hormone control. Still.

Her captain has ordered her, however, and there's nothing she can do about it. Time to face Beverly who will, hopefully, straighten this all out, or at least do something with this damn headache and the stubborn pain in her chest.

Could be worse. She muses. He could have called in Data to try and explain missing time, and would be an interrogation!

"Aye, sir." She glaces at the other two officers as one enters the lift to get her phaser. She hopes she can earn it back.

"The uniforms look more comfortable, at least, sir."

Edited 2015-01-21 06:55 (UTC)

In the past year, Sickbay has played witness to a number of odd events. Just recently, CMO Kate Pulaski appeared without warning; at around the same time, Worf started bouncing between points in his timeline.

But the one thing nobody expected to see was Lieutenant Tasha Yar.

When the doors open, the security officers are the first to enter, followed by Tasha with Picard close behind her. The captain looks grim, as does the lieutenant, but it's the latter Beverly can't keep her eyes off of. She nearly drops the PADD she had been holding.

"Tasha?" she breathes, gaze flickering between the two of them. Eventually it ends up on Captain Picard. "But how? When?"

Tasha grew up in hell. Humor came when and where it could. So she's attempting to smile as she says this. "When I fell asleep it was Stardate 41601.0," she replied. "And now it's 44046.7." She shrugs and tries to sound witty. "As far as I know, it was just another horrible night's sleep."

"And our Captain refuses to incarate me, or let me go back to work, so I'm here."

She wishes she could pull off comedy like Will. Her timing is off. Today? It's way off.

She shakes her head and points to a bio-bed. "Will this do?"

The humor does miss its mark, but that is more the fault of the situation than it is Tasha's talent or lack thereof. Beverly is blanched white and blinking at Tasha as if looking into the eyes of a ghost — and, Picard would have to assume, that's precisely what she believes she is doing.

"Lieutenant Yar is missing some time, and it is my intention to help her recall what she cannot remember," he adds, making eye contact with Beverly. He gives her a meaningful look before continuing on. "She was also complaining of some pain. I thought it best you examine her."

That isn't the only reason he wishes Tasha be examined, but until he can get further with her it is the only reason that needs speaking aloud.

Luckily, Dr. Crusher has known Jean-Luc long enough to pick up on his shorthand, and though the shock of the situation is frankly overwhelming, the look he gives her manages to break through. She shakes herself back to attention.

"Yes, of course," she mutters, finding her footing again. She allows herself a second, just one, chewing on her lip as she runs over the possibilities. Some sort of corporeal manifestation Q has sent to torture them all? An alien impostor? Or, could it be that she really has been brought back to life? "That will do fine, please sit."

Beverly has to fight to keep her hands from shaking as she reaches for her tricorder. Sucking in a deep breath, she looks at Tasha and asks, as professionally as she can: "How are you feeling?"

According to the monitors, the only people foolhardy enough to clock in for work with this amount of pain receptors active are Worf, Jean-Luc, and her. At least she admits, after a glance to the Captain and stowing her automatic response. "Lousy," she replies honestly.

With the exception of her nerves reacting badly and elevated blood pressure, however, there's absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Same perfect physical health as when she left and every nearly-invisible physical mark of Starfleet's extensive repairs on her in mid-adolescence are there for Beverly to account for. Another detailed sweep shows that the synaptic responses which were deadened and drained in Armus' attack are showing signs of slightly increased activity while the physical symptoms show bruising consistent with Lt. Yar's injuries from being thrown by that thing. It is, however, only fantastically bad bruising.

Reluctantly, she lets Crusher continue her work and looks to Picard expectantly for questions and maybe even some answers. She'll also try very, very hard not to fidget because it will give her something to focus on.

She's not noticing she's gnawing on her lower lip, however.

Jean-Luc manages a weak smile when Dr. Crusher answers with "I'm not surprised" in her usual tone. He is always grateful when that tone isn't being used on him.

The matter at hand, however, is far too grim to allow any mirth to linger more than a moment. He allows Beverly her space to work, noting her reactions as the readings come through, and realizing the horrible revelation that Tasha's condition is precisely as it was the day she died. Living it once was hard enough; reliving it, particularly for the CMO, will bring nothing but ill memories back with it.

"Tasha, do you recall our visit to Vagra II?" he begins, voice measured. "We lost one of our shuttles, shuttlecraft thirteen, carrying Lieutenant Ben Prieto and Counselor Troi."

She strains to recall anything, but nothing is there. After awhile, she admits, "We aren't...I mean, we were not supposed to rendezvous with the shuttle on a planet, sir. Can I assume the Enterprise was diverted in some way?"

Something is nagging at her. Something dark and smelling of decay. She pushes it away to focus on the now. It was only a dream.

That is surprising. So much so that it shows on Picard's face, and he takes a moment to fold his arms across his chest, rubbing his chin in thought. The Tasha Yar sitting before him now appears to be from three distinct times: mentally, she is but hours from the rescue mission that would take her life; physically, she is showing signs of injuries she incurred while there; and yet, at this point in time, she is two years into the future as though not a single day has passed.

"It was," he says, nodding softly. "The shuttle's computer was damaged, and it lost control and was caught in Vagra II's gravity. Both the lieutenant and the counselor were injured, and we lost contact with them for a short time."

He pauses, perhaps reliving the moment for himself. It is something he has never allowed himself to forget. "It is important you know that both Prieto and Counselor Troi were all right. Minor injuries only. It is also important, lieutenant, that you know you did not abandon your duties."

She nods at Beverly's scanning and listens to Picard while trying to dreg up anything from her memory. Nope. Nothing there except working out, going to sleep, having another nightmare about fighting something bigger than her and then coming back to the much saner real world - even though two years were gone from her sane world.

She frowns, but her blood pressure visibly drops on the scans by the biobed. "As Chief of Security, sir, it would have been part of my duties to go down. Is that when I disappeared?"

Picard makes a move to speak, but pauses to let Beverly interject some mild counsel and inform Lieutenant Yar that she would like to run a few more tests.

He nods.

"You, along with Commander Riker, Lt. Commander Data, and Dr. Crusher went to the planet to investigate, and while you were there you encountered an entity previously unknown to us who referred to himself as Armus," Picard begins, pausing to gather his thoughts. "The entity at first appeared to be something like a pool of oil, but it could move and take shape, and eventually it spoke with us. We quickly discovered that Armus' intentions were ill; he derived pleasure from inflicting pain, you see, feeding on that energy, and therefore he showed no regard for our wounded or the away team."

He pauses, exchanging glances with Dr. Crusher. She looks concerned, but after a moment she gives him a small nod. He turns back to Tasha, eyes downcast, and lifts his chin to speak. "Tasha. You engaged Armus, and he wounded you. You did not survive."

She nods to Beverly as well. The more she cooperates, the faster this will be over with. She then turns her full attention back to Picard.

She straightens, not at the announcement of her apparent death, but at the description of Armus. "Sir," she says slowly, puzzling something already trying to flee from her mind. "Is where we encountered Armus an arid enviroment or smell of decay?"

The question brings Beverly to full attention, therefore it's she who answers rather than Captain Picard.

"Yes," she says, the memory of Vagra II fresh in her mind. "We didn't expect to see any lifeforms. The sensors read no vegetation, no life signs other than Counselor Troi and Lieutenant Prieto. Are you remembering something?"

"It was a dream," is her automatic reply. Then, she growls at herself a little and shifts her attention between the two older officers.

"It's vague. I thought it was a dream. I went to sleep last night -" she says, not letting the truth of events slow down her perceptions. "And there was this nightmare of a dead world. I remember the smell of burnt polymers, sand, and something that smelled decayed. Something spoke in a voice that sounded -" She pauses for a split second, unable to find the word. "Dead. Like Death. It said something about not sharing our views." She shakes her head. "I didn't like the way it seems to be looking at Commander Data. I mean, I could sense we were all being sized up and -"

She rolls her eyes at herself. "I wanted its focus on me instead of them. I thought maybe -"

She deflates with another shake of her head. "It's gone now, sir.

Dr. Crusher shakes her head, visibly shaken by Tasha's account.

"That's him," she says, glancing between Tasha and Picard. "That's Armus."

The grief she felt over losing Tasha and the pain from those memories comes back, as fresh as ever, but she swallows it down. Whatever this is, Tasha needs her now. There will be time to process what's happened later. For now, she focuses on her readings, and the information Tasha is providing her with.

He nods.

"That's all right, lieutenant. You've done quite well," he says, smiling tightly.

She remembers the events as though it were a dream, which suggests perhaps her mind is searching for a way to deal with the trauma of what happened to her. Or perhaps it suggests that what she went through on Vagra II has somehow been manipulated by Q. Only the results of her scan will truly tell. Is she alive? Dead? Is this in fact the real Tasha Yar? How far do Q's powers really stretch?

"You acted as any Starfleet officer in your position would, with honor," he goes on, to further reassure her. "However, lieutenant — I have delivered rather unsettling news. Are you sure you are all right?"

It's a lot to take in, but all her mind can come up with is that Deanna is going to not take this well and is likely going to keep her away from duty much longer.

"Sir," she says slowly. "I've lived with death since I was a child. When I graduated the Academy I always knew I would die wearing a Starfleet uniform. My regret is that I caused the only family I have had grief."

"Thinking as an officer, sir, it may very well be I'm not 'me' under the circumstances." She slowly takes her com badge and holds it. "Until the investigation concludes, my rank is suspended." She sighs, moving her finger lightly over it. "You have to be through." She doesn't need to add the part about her wanting to return to her duties as quickly as possible.

She hardly needs to. Picard hasn't yet considered the effect this might have on Deanna, though that is sure to come sooner rather than later; he is, however, keenly aware of the difficulties Lieutenant Yar will be faced to endure in the coming weeks.

Part of him is relieved that she speaks first on the matter. While he could and would confiscate her badge along with her weapon, his mind is currently on the Tasha he first met and the child he never had the opportunity to encounter. The words, while realistic, are hard to bear when he knows how true they are.

He purses his lips, nods stiffly, and reaches for her combadge. "Quite right. You are hereby relieved of your duties and your bridge clearance."

Her codes have already long been replaced, but it is protocol. He pauses, perhaps to mark the weightiness of the moment.

"You will stay under the observation of Dr. Crusher until we can better determine what has happened to you," he goes on. After which point, she'll need to be informed of Q's dealings with the Enterprise and some of what has happened since her death, as she will no doubt have questions. But they will take this one step at a time. If she proves to be an impostor, it may well spare the ship, though Picard hopes that is not the case. Not solely for her benefit, and judging by the look on Beverly's face, for the benefit of the crew, but because her absence has been keenly felt and he himself would like to believe she has been given a second chance.

Perhaps this time not to die in her Starfleet uniform, but years ahead with it hanging proudly in her closet, well-decorated with all of her accomplishments.

That stung more than she wanted it to, but hides it well. She is the kind of person that can and has questioned her best friend's loyalty on occasion when Starfleet needed her to.

"Aye, sir." She bites her lips. "Under the circumstances, I'll let you inform the crew. Since I'll be confined to civilian decks, is there anything I should know?"

She's fishing for something - anything - to do other than work out and hope for the best. Confinement is for prisoners and prizes.

And she is neither. He will have that made absolutely clear, but first he will acknowledge her question.

"Yes," he says, focus drifting momentarily as he determines the best way to present her with the news. She will find out sooner or later. "Q has returned to the Enterprise."

"That...might explain a lot." If she is being used as Q's plaything again...She physically shakes the thought away.

"What is the game this time?"

Edited 2015-03-04 15:40 (UTC)

Yes, he rather thought she might come to that conclusion, thus his reticence to mention it straight away. He wanted time to gauge her reaction, to see how she would explain the missing years without the influence of Q on her thoughts.

"It may well," he nods, before hastening to add: "This time he has agreed that no harm is to come to the Enterprise or any aboard her — a number which has been steadily increasing these past few months."

He sighs. "Ever since stardate 43289.1, people have been appearing on the Enterprise in the same fashion as Q, brought here by his unique gifts from a variety of not only worlds but universes, and told they must remain until he decides otherwise."

"Then someone should be watching them," is her automatic reply.

"At least until we can do something, like find their old homes, or the Federation can create new homes for them. What has Starfleet said about them all being here, if I may ask?"

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Wakes

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Section 23 Baker, Room 1631: Sickbay

Re: Section 23 Baker, Room 1631: Sickbay

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