From A.Martens@mail.utexas.edu Thu Jul 25 02:54:55 1996 Received: from smtp.utexas.edu (smtp.utexas.edu [128.83.126.2]) by Zeus.Token.Net (8.7.4/8.7.3) with SMTP id CAA13655 for ; Thu, 25 Jul 1996 02:54:44 -0400 (EDT) Received: from [128.83.251.39] (slip-53-7.ots.utexas.edu [128.83.251.39]) by smtp.utexas.edu (8.6.7/8.6.6) with SMTP id BAA28545 for ; Thu, 25 Jul 1996 01:41:02 -0500 Message-Id: Mime-Version: 1.0 Date: Thu, 25 Jul 1996 01:43:13 -0500 To: trek@token.net From: A.Martens@mail.utexas.edu (Allison M. Martens) Subject: Illusion - story for trek archive Status: OR Here is a copy of a story I recently posted for inclusion in the archive. It is a TNG short story. Thanks Alara! - Allison ILLUSION by Allison Martens Usual disclaimers declaring Paramount God. *Part 1* The Enterprise-E sped through space at maximum warp, responding to the distress call of a Federation shuttle. Every second mattered, for every second counted against the life of Doctor Beverly Crusher. The impulse engines had exploded aboard the Shuttle Tyderian, killing the pilot and the five other passengers bound for the newly launched Federation flagship. Beverly, the lone survivor, struggled to maintain the integrity of the emergency force fields, which protected her from the cold vacuum of space, but she could do nothing to thwart the impending overload of the warp coils. Captain Picard sat in his command chair, his body tensed, waiting for the drama to play out. Commander Data had been dispatched to the transporter room. His android quickness would be needed at the controls, for they knew that, at best, they could only hope to arrive on the verge of being too late. Picard cursed himself under his breath. He had been the one to urge Beverly to take an assignment outside Federation space, pointing to the incredible opportunity to single-handedly modernize a newly aligned planet's medical infrastructure. Now that advice had apparently turned deadly. With Beverly's life hanging in the balance, the captain found it easy to put the blame on himself, sure in his reasoning that if it were not for his meddling, she would have been on time to assume her assignment as CMO aboard the Enterprise-E, and now safely tucked away in sickbay reviewing the medical histories of the new crew. Before the conn officer could even report to her captain that they had reached maximum transporter range, Data's fingers began to fly across the smooth console of the transporter controls. His voice came over the open channel to the bridge. "A warp coil breach has begun. The energy surge is affecting the transporter signal." After about five seconds, which seemed closer to five years to Picard and his fellow officers, Data spoke again. "Sir, I was able to beam only a portion of the doctor's pattern off the shuttle as it disintegrated. I have rescued her complete neural signature, but, unfortunately, the majority of her physical pattern was lost. I am currently stabilizing her neural pattern and storing it in the Enterprise's holodeck system. I believe there is sufficient storage capability available in holodecks one through three." "So she is alive?" Picard asked, not really addressing anyone in particular. "In a sense, Captain," Data answered, his emotion chip responsible for the sensitive word choice. He felt it would sound much better than 'inconclusive.' "I have completed the temporary reconfiguration of the holodeck memory systems to accommodate her neural signature. I will join you in the conference room shortly to brief you further." Picard stood, reaching down for a perfunctory tug on his tunic. A solution to this problem would be found. They were aboard the Enterprise after all, and Picard hoped that this ship, and crew, would continue the charmed tradition of beating even the longest odds. Failure was not an option. At this point, failure was not even a concept the captain could wrap his mind around. With Counselor Troi in tow, Picard headed to the conference room. Within minutes, Geordi and Data joined them. Data quickly reviewed the events as they had occurred, recognizing the strong need to cut to the chase. "In short, Dr. Crusher's physical being has been lost in this accident. It cannot be retrieved. However, we are fortunate to have completely salvaged her mental being. Her neural signature is currently in storage, undamaged." Deanna braved the question that the captain could not bear to ask. "Data, what is the benefit of maintaining Beverly's neural signature if she has no body with which it can be integrated?" "My hope, Counselor, is to find a way to recreate the Doctor's physical pattern so that she will, as you put it, have a body with which we can integrate her neural pattern." Data's statement drew a quiet whistle from Geordi. He knew as much as anybody in the Federation about transporter technology, but this goal was, to put it mildly, ambitious. That didn't matter though. Beverly's life was at stake, and that was more than enough motivation to work the problem. Troi felt a sense of hope building inside the captain. His faith in his officers was enormous, and it was enough to keep him going for now. At last, Picard spoke. He had a thousand questions, yet only a few could be properly posed to his crew. "What is Beverly's condition now? Is she aware of her situation? How long can she survive under these conditions?" Data began his explanation, guarding the fact that this was all merely guesswork, and that, in truth, Beverly Crusher might never be anything more than the code that she had been saved in. "Dr. Crusher is not conscious in our sense of the word. Her neural signature has been stored, in essence frozen at the moment of transport and then recorded. It is currently inactive. Information of this size and complexity is difficult to maintain. However, with some modification and upgrades to the holodeck memory systems, it may be possible to avert any pattern degradation, thus allowing us to store the doctor's pattern indefinitely." "So she cannot feel any pain?" Deanna asked hopefully. Geordi fielded this question. "The doctor has no basis upon which to feel, or be aware of, anything. She is in a static state. She possesses no senses, thus there is no basis upon which she can build thoughts. To put it simply, nothing is being input, so nothing can be output. At least, that's what should theoretically be the case." "Theoretically?" Picard questioned, uncomfortable at even the slightest chance that Beverly might be aware of her situation and experiencing pain or confusion. "Captain," Data began, "the human brain may be generally analogous to a computer, but there are aspects of the mind that defy explanation or understanding. Human consciousness may not be amenable to being downloaded to a disk for storage." Geordi didn't care much for that possibility either. "You know Data, you have stored her signature in the first three holodecks. We could use the information in Beverly's personnel file to create a holographic image of her in Holodeck Four, and then connect it to the memory banks that hold her neural signature, creating a shunt between them." Data followed his point. "The holodeck computer can act as a sensory surrogate, allowing us to interact with the doctor's signature, in essence granting her artificial consciousness. Ingenious." "What will we tell Beverly once we have endowed her with artificial consciousness? She'll want to know what happens next." Picard did not have to be a scientist to grasp the basic problem. There was no physical body to be had. The transporter reconfigured particles. It did not create them. "The next step is to obtain a copy of Dr. Crusher's transport pattern from the computer," Data explained. "Once we have done that, we must locate a suitable body donor for the rematerialization." "Donor?" Troi asked incredulously. She didn't imagine they'd be able to find many volunteers to become Beverly Crusher, exciting as her life might seem. "Yes," the android continued. "If we can find a recently deceased adult female still in stasis, whose body is not seriously diseased or damaged, we can transport the deceased's body, resequence her DNA, using Dr. Crusher's pattern while in the buffer, integrate the doctor's neural signature .." "... rematerialize her on the transporter pad, resuscitate her, and voila instant Doc, good as new," Geordi finished enthusiastically. He began to think, that in spite of its wildness, it just might work. After all, he had seen a lot of strange stuff in his Starfleet career. At this point, Picard would have believed the Moon could be turned into green cheese if it meant Beverly's life. "Make it so," he ordered. *Part 2* Picard stood inside Holodeck Four with Troi, LaForge and Data just behind him. A simple recreation of an officer's quarters had been activated. Nobody wanted for Beverly to feel unnecessarily overwhelmed when she regained 'consciousness.' Picard breathed deeply, composing himself for all the questions that would surely follow. "Computer activate Crusher image." Before them materialized a phantom. It was Beverly, and yet there was no familiar spark in her eyes. Frozen, the phantom stared straight ahead, unaware. "Computer activate Crusher neural signature." A moment passed, and then life. Beverly's eyes blinked several times, as she continued looking towards her crewmates. She made no move to speak. The captain could stand it no longer, as he stepped towards the doctor and called her by name. "Beverly, can you hear me?" Crusher turned her head in the captain's direction, but it took her several seconds to speak. "Jean-Luc?" Picard responded by reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently. It was warm to the touch. For the first time since the initial distress call, Picard took a deep breath. "It's me. Beverly, how do you feel?" "Something is different." Beverly began moving her head around, attempting to take in her surroundings fully. "I feel strange. Last I remember is being on the shuttle as it began to break up." "Do not be alarmed Doctor," Data began, stepping forward. "There were complications during your rescue. A transporter accident has made it necessary for us to integrate you with the holodeck system temporarily." "The holodeck system?" "Yes, your body was lost in the explosion. However, the transporter managed to beam your neural signature to us intact." Data paused, looking at the confusion on the doctor's artificial face. That there was any expression at all was exciting. The interactive program was working. Information was getting to Beverly, and Beverly was getting to them. The computer was proving itself able to interpret her thoughts, and then translate them back to the hologram. All the finger crossing had paid off. "We have created a holographic representation of you, while we work on returning your neural signature to a human host." "Don't worry about anything Beverly," Picard interrupted. "Data and Geordi have the situation under control. I'm sure that this entire situation is disorienting, but it won't last long. You'll be back to normal before you know it." He couldn't help but try to assert control. He was entirely unaccustomed to being without it. "I'm a hologram? Is that why everything seems so strange to me?" Data attempted to explain. "You are simply adjusting to processing computer-based rather than sensory-based input." Geordi picked it up from there, running through the entire explanation, laying out their theory for returning her to her own corporeal form, and explaining the nature of the holoprogram they had designed to give her artificial consciousness in the meantime. Beverly appeared to grasp the nature of her predicament, her reaction a mixture of both the relief and the fear of understanding. Picard stood away from the couch, where Beverly sat listening to Data and Geordi. He whispered to Deanna. "How is she doing? She seems to be taking it well considering the magnitude of the problem." "Captain," Deanna whispered in reply, "I know no more than you. That Beverly is not real. She is an illusion. I can not sense her any more than I can sense any other hologram." That revelation cut the captain deeply. Not so much because it was unexpected, but more because it was hard to hear. This was the dearest friend he had ever known. Watching her sit here before him, existing as something less than real left a cold ache in his gut. Picard warmed, however, when he heard Beverly laugh just a bit at something Geordi said. The Beverly that counted was still here, still filled with memories and caring, now a kindred spirit carved in light rather than flesh. "I think Beverly could use some time to think, and to adjust to her new condition," Picard offered. "Besides," he continued, nodding at Geordi and Data, "the two of you need to get right to work on the next phase of returning Beverly to normal." Everyone took the hint, and quickly Beverly and Jean-Luc found themselves alone in Beverly's holoquarters. Picard joined her on the couch, taking her hands into his lap. "I can't even begin to imagine what you must be feeling, but please don't be afraid. I won't let anything happen to you. You are going to be just fine." If he repeated the reassurances enough, they would be forced to come true. He was the captain after all. "I have faith in Geordi and Data. If anyone can fix me, it is them. Besides, I have a lot to live for." "You do Beverly." Jean-Luc reached up and brushed Beverly's cheek, but she pulled away before he could continue. "What's wrong?" "It's this state I'm in. It's frightening. I don't feel anything. It's like I'm floating in some sort of void and listening as somebody explains what is happening to me ... to my hologram ... to us." Realizing that he didn't quite understand, she continued. "When you just touched me Jean-Luc, I didn't feel it. I simply knew it had happened. When you speak, I hear nothing. I simply understand the words, as if someone is sitting at a computer terminal and typing it all into my mind. I can't see you, yet somehow I know that you are sitting just a few centimeters to my right, holding my hands, and now your lips are apparently curling slightly downward. I can picture the look Jean-Luc. I know what worry does to your face. But that is all I seem to be able to do, take this information and wrap my imagination around it so that I might see." Jean-Luc's world shattered inside at the thought of his comfort being hollow. All he could offer her was being lost in the translation. "Perhaps you just need a little time to accustom yourself to this new way of sensing things." He was putting on a brave front. He had to, besides she was 'alive,' that was all that mattered. "Perhaps." There was no mistaking the uncertainty in Beverly's voice. Jean-Luc recognized the soft quaver. He could not communicate all that he felt to her, for she could not see or hear the subtleties. Yet, her emotions poured through her familiar guise like a clarion. "I'll go now, so that you can think. *But,* I'll be back to check up on you soon. Why don't you enjoy the holodeck while you are a part of it. Data has programmed it to respond to the voice commands of your hologram. You can run any program you'd like." "Thank you Jean-Luc. I'm sure I'll be fine. I'll adjust. After all, it's only temporary." The brave heart he so admired in her showed itself. Jean-Luc kissed her hand, knowing it meant more to him than her, but she did not object. He left the holodeck, the taste of her skin lingering on his lips, making him a believer. This Beverly was no illusion. *Part 3* Picard sipped at his tea. His dinner sat untouched on the plate in front of him. He could think only of how close he had come to losing Beverly. He could not deny it. Her life was integral to his own. He wasn't sure if that meant there could ever be more between them than the warm companionship they shared, but he knew he could never live with less. He sat drifting through the memories, when it suddenly occurred to him that he had never seen anyone else butter a croissant with quite the same piquant charm. Odd how this little bit of nothing stuck in his mind, sending him on journeys he one day hoped to have the opportunity to undertake. Data's voice came over the communicator, jarring Picard from his thoughts. "Data to Picard. Sir, could you join me in the Conference Room?" "On my way," Picard answered, with a quick clearing of the throat. He exited with a spring in his step, marveling at the possibility that they might have located a donor this quickly. The senior staff assembled around the table. The captain looked to Data and Geordi, who both appeared far too grave for Picard's taste. "Sir," Data began, "we have encountered a serious complication in our attempt to restore Dr. Crusher to her normal state. Because the doctor had not yet reported for duty, the Enterprise-E had no transporter record of her pattern. Initially, we did not consider this a problem. We were confident that we could contact other Starfleet installations the doctor had visited and obtain her pattern from them. Unfortunately, the doctor was stationed at a non-Starfleet medical facility, and in the last six months she had not traveled via transporter." Geordi provided the devastating piece of information. "As I am sure you are aware Captain, it is Starfleet protocol to purge transporter pattern records every six months. Data and I have contacted every Starfleet ship and installation that has had contact with the doctor. No luck." "And without a physical pattern to work with, we can't get Beverly back." Troi fought back the tears, as Picard's emotions seared through her, mixing with her own. "Can anything be done?" Picard asked, exhibiting the crafted facade cobbled from years of leadership. "The situation is not hopeless," Data offered. "We can still integrate Dr. Crusher's neural signature with a donor body. Now, however, she will have to assume the appearance of her donor." Imperfect, and yet far better than the alternative. Picard's heart began to retreat from his throat, until Troi spoke again. "That is if Beverly agrees. There are many issues to be addressed, ethical and otherwise. Assuming another's physical identity is not a simple matter. Her life will be radically changed, and in ways that go far beyond the superficial. I do not think we should treat this donation as a foregone conclusion." Troi was engaging in simple speculation. Jean-Luc was certain of that. Beverly would never abandon life, and perhaps, more importantly, never abandon him. "We should discuss this with Beverly immediately, before somebody tries to ship us a donor in stasis," Geordi recommended. *** Bravely Beverly listened as her problem was explained. She and Data began a discussion of the medical implications of such a transfer, while Picard stood aside and marveled at her calm. At last it seemed as though she was informed enough to offer her consent. "I'd like some time alone to think this over." Picard stood there dumbfounded. What was there to consider? 'Yes' was life. 'Yes' was breakfasts together, and walks arm-in-arm in the arboretum. 'Yes' was growing old with a friend. "Beverly, I can understand the overwhelming implications of changing bodies, but there really isn't much choice in the matter. I'll be with you every step of the way for the difficult period of adjustment." "I know that Jean-Luc, but I don't want to rush into this decision. I want to be sure that I can handle it." Beverly sounded firm, so Picard obeyed and left. In his mind, it didn't really matter. These were butterflies and nothing more. She'd sleep on it, and then agree. *Part 4* Data entered Beverly's holodeck home. "Good morning Beverly. I hope I have not kept you waiting too long." "Don't be silly Data," she responded. "I'm just glad you could make time for me this early in the day. Won't you join me here on the couch." Data sat beside the doctor, taking note of her reasonably positive demeanor. It had become so nice to be able to ascribe feelings to his observations. For instance, it pleased him to see his friend bearing up so well under an incredible burden. "I always have time for you Doctor." Beverly grinned slightly. "This might sound terribly odd Data, but it is so wonderful to have a guest whom I don't have to feel obligated to offer morning tea. Why is it that we humans are so fascinated by refreshments anyway?" She shook her head a bit, dismissing with that gesture her own rhetorical little aside. "I don't care much to be reminded that taste is yet another thing I can't experience in my state." "I understand Doctor, and I do not find it the least bit odd. Before my emotion chip, I never really understood the wonders of the sensation of taste. I was able to discriminate between flavors before, but I could assign nothing more than arbitrary values to them. I regret that eating is not essential to my existence. I believe the lack of necessity subtly undercuts the experience for me. In fact, I have observed that, in all emotions, my experiences seem somewhat muted in comparison to those of real humans, as my programming can never completely emulate the visceral link between sensation and emotion. In any event, I can imagine that being put in the position that I once occupied, here taste without tasting, is doubly difficult for you, considering the fact that you know what you are in actuality missing." Beverly found it marvelous that the upgrade in hardware had not impeded Data's ability to digress magnificently. "Thank you Data for understanding." "Do not worry Doctor. It is my hope that you will not have to endure this condition for long. I am optimistic that we will locate a donor quickly. Every Federation hospital and Starfleet sickbay is on the lookout for a suitable candidate. The mere mention of your name got everyone's attention, as well as their immediate cooperation. You are highly respected by your peers Doctor." "Data, I asked you here to talk about the prospect of this donation. I am uncomfortable with its ethical implications." "How so Doctor?" "Data, you know as well as I, that in taking over the body of another, I will be assuming a whole new identity, forged from the interaction of her emotions with my memories. I am not sure that is something I can live with. I am not sure that is something anyone should be *allowed* to live with." "In all honesty, I had not thought much about that particular consequence of the procedure. I guess my eagerness to aid a friend prevented me from thinking this solution through to every logical conclusion. I find myself wanting to focus only on the positive, where your welfare is concerned. Evidently my unabashed optimism has left you vulnerable." Data paused. His face darkening at the realization that pushing his own boundaries of existence came with a price. "It is apparent that my adjustment to emotions continues to be somewhat clumsy." "Data, it pleases me to be able to say that you are only human." Beverly delighted in making Data smile, and now she could do so without providing a cue. "And yet you are not human. But why? What is one of the main things that keeps you from fully realizing your goal?" The point suddenly became clear to him. "My potential for immortality." "Exactly. Humans were not, whether it was by design or evolutionary happenstance, take your pick, meant to live indefinite lives. But what is to keep me, or any other person who has access to a transporter, from trying to live forever, simply hopping from body to body and co-opting their essence, not caring that each change gives birth to a new soul, whose genesis is completely unnatural? I am reminded of all the arguments of the great medical ethicists, who called for, and eventually won, the abandonment of cloning and genetic engineering research by the Federation. Unnatural origins too easily lead to unnatural ends." "I see your point Doctor. It would not take much for an ambitious, and perhaps misguided, scientist to adapt the transporter glitch, that resulted in the separation of your mental and physical patterns, into a workable program, thus enabling him to integrate any body with any mind, perhaps not even limiting the exchanges to within one species. That prospect certainly gives one pause." "And what would keep people from searching out bodies that once housed great athletes, or artists, or leaders? What would keep those people from trying to capture those largely innate talents for themselves, trading their own identities for a taste of someone else's greatness? By consenting to this donation, I could become the first in a line of human vultures. And what's more, who shall be forced to be serve as the carrion for these self-appointed immortals?" Concern whirred across Data's features. "I do not think you are exaggerating in your claims Doctor. It is unfortunate that the most noble and benign of intentions, here the preservation of life, can be twisted to serve ignoble ends. Humans do seem to abandon their better nature rather quickly upon the apprehension of death. Perhaps it is wrong to offer the temptation of relief, however imperfect, from that end." "I do not want to die Data, but I do not think I could shoulder that kind of ethical burden. It flies in the face of everything I believe." "Beverly, I will be sad should you choose not to live. In spite of the metamorphosis living would involve, I would still be proud to call you a friend. My loyalty and affection would never be lost." The doctor bowed her head at Data's words, as if the weight of her burden was actually wearing down upon her, the only thing left that she could actually feel. "If only I had died in that explosion, I would be spared this decision. How can I *choose* to leave a life that is so full of wonderful people and opportunities?" "I am afraid I have no answer to offer you," Data responded, not entirely sure it had been a question asked of him. "I only know that, in the end, it is a choice that belongs only to you." He paused for a moment. "I hope you realize that I would not have rescued your incomplete pattern had I known it would cause you such great distress." "Don't be ridiculous Data. You did what you had to do. As a doctor, I understand, better than anyone, the desire to preserve life. You were acting out of both duty and friendship. I could never be angry with you for that." He appeared satisfied with her response. "Then I will leave you to your deliberations." "Data, before you go, answer me one thing. If your body were somehow destroyed, and there was no way to rebuild you or your emotion chip, would you consent to having your memories downloaded into Juliana's or Lore's body, if either was available to you?" It did not take him long to answer. "No. I think that would be as unacceptable as it is unwise. All three of us operate under the same set of principles, but the nuances of our individual programming are unique. I think I would miss being Data, and even more I think I would fear who I might become under the guide of another emotion chip and network of circuitry. Identity is inviolate. Even for the synthetic." Data left his friend, knowing her decision, even though she had not yet announced a choice. He would miss her presence in his life, already feeling a hollow space inside, though she had not yet left. Becoming human was not all that it was cracked up to be. *Part 5* Deanna Troi called for the holodeck doors to open. Stepping inside, she looked around. A sick feeling began to overwhelm her, as she scanned the room unable to locate Beverly. "Computer, status of Beverly Crusher's holoprogram?" "Dr. Crusher's holographic image has been temporarily disabled." "According to whose orders?" "Dr. Crusher's neural signature." "Computer, enable Crusher holographic image." Deanna watched in amazement as the potted plant just to her left blinked out of existence, only to be replaced by the image of her friend. "Beverly?" There wasn't much else the bewildered counselor could think to say. "Deanna I'm sorry. I was not expecting any company. I guess you are probably wondering what I was up to." Getting only a nod in response, Beverly began her explanation. "I had grown tired of sitting in this room, simply being fed the same information over and over. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't do anything to escape the description of these four walls. So I decided to see what it would be like to experience existence without any senses, be they artificial or otherwise. I ordered the computer to deactivate my hologram for one hour. I guess my own perverse sense of the dramatic drove me to replace myself with a potted plant in the meantime." She paused a moment, her lips crinkling slightly. "I'm hesitant to ask what that choice says about my psyche." Troi could tell that Beverly was trying to shrug off her situation with a little humor, but Deanna felt more like crying at the quiet desperation she could see before her. "I am just glad to know that you are all right. When I came into the holodeck and found you missing, I feared that something had gone wrong with your programming." "I am sorry. It was insensitive of me to try out my little experiment without notifying anyone. I won't let it happen again." "I am glad Data told me that you might need a friend to talk to. I don't like what this little experiment says about your condition." Deanna grew extremely serious. "Beverly were you trying to experience death?" A shadow fell across the doctor's face. "I am not sure what I was trying to do Deanna. All I know is that it was something I felt I needed to experience." She led her visitor over to the couch. "Let's not talk about it. It was a failed experiment anyway. I don't think I am going to want to be left completely alone within my own mind again any time soon." Deanna knew well enough to leave that alone. The mark of a good therapist was also knowing when not to pry. "I wish I could have known for myself that you needed me, instead of having Data send me to you. I miss feeling you Beverly. Your presence always made me feel safe, like having a security blanket wrapped snugly around my shoulders at every moment." "In a way Deanna, I think you are the only person on this ship who can understand what I am going through, what I have lost. Everybody else sees this face, and they think that I am still here, that this artificial condition is analogous to being in some sort of quarantine. It is easy for them to ignore the reality that, although they can still make some connection with me, I can't connect with them. But you know better." "I do. Empaths are not so easily fooled by what the surface reveals. The smoke and mirrors of the holodeck have never really done much for me over the years. I can't give myself over to the fiction. But this is one time where I wish I could pretend. For once, I wish I could experience with my eyes alone, rather than my empathy." "Deanna, you know what is going to happen if I undergo this body donation. You are going to feel someone else." "I have thought about that. It will be very strange to adjust to a new you. I only hope that we can forge the same kind of bond that we shared before. Life will be very lonely without feeling you with me." "What if we can't? What if the two of us, you and the new Beverly, are incompatible? What then?" "Then we make the best of it." Beverly laughed. "Famous last words. You know, I have been doing a lot of thinking about Odan. There is a terrible irony here. I rejected him for just this same reason. I was uncomfortable with his change. It was too confusing to recognize something you loved, but have it feel so different, to have the context change so entirely. I never want anyone I love to do to me what I did to him. What he must have felt when I turned her away, that is my worst nightmare. Trouble is, who knows what this new Beverly's worst nightmare will be. Maybe she'll want to be turned away. And that, Deanna, is the thought that frightens me even more. I don't know how Odan managed. Perhaps there is something in Trill physiology that prepares them for such enormous changes. How do the symbionts continue to love or understand one another, once they are so marked by the varying personalities of their hosts? How do the symbionts even continue to understand themselves?" "Beverly, perhaps you have hit upon the reason in saying that there is something physiological about it. Maybe even cultural. Trills were designed for this sort of flexible identity. Humans were not." "That is why I'm afraid. I am terrified of losing my identity." Troi simply stared back at her, hesitant to make any answer. Beverly could still read the expression, even though she could not 'see' it. "You aren't saying anything Deanna. You agree with me don't you?" "I only know that I would be as frightened as you are to confront this donation. The chemistry of our feelings is so complex and so deeply personal and unique. It is hard for me, an empath, to accept the idea of simply trading it all in. Your feelings make you who you are." She stopped for a moment, as if she had decided to finish with that, but then she continued. "And who you are is pretty damn special. You are an original, Beverly Crusher. It will be difficult to learn to accept feeling somebody new in your place. She will always suffer by comparison." Deanna dropped her head a bit, looking almost ashamed that she had said something so negative about the only option her friend had. She struggled to cover the brutality of her opinion. "I am sorry. I didn't want it to sound like that. Just because something will be difficult doesn't make it a bad choice." "No, I am glad you have been honest with me Deanna. That is all I needed to come to terms with this decision." Beverly straightened her posture in an act of resolve. "You know it is going to be hard for some people on this ship to accept that I must turn down this procedure." Deanna gave a knowing nod. "The consequences will be especially difficult for *some* people to handle." "I need time to make sure that this is what I want. I also need time to figure out how to say good-bye ..." " ... I won't say anything about this discussion Beverly. You take all the time you need. And don't worry. He'll understand in time that you are making the right choice." Before Beverly could get out her next words, Deanna spoke again. "And he'll never be alone. I'll make sure of that." "Thank you. Deanna, I wish there was some way that I could give you more than words to show my love for you." "It is all right Beverly. I remember how you feel." *Part 6* Two days had passed since Beverly had been asked to be left alone to make her decision. Jean-Luc had hardly seen her, as he impatiently awaited her choice. He had tried to keep his distance, but he could not resist checking in a few times. Each time, Beverly had kept her distance. She did not like to be touched or held, and even speaking with him for too long had seemed to upset her. But she had not resisted everyone's company. Both Deanna and Data had visited her for long conversations. Jean-Luc had wanted to pry, but he resisted. It made sense that Beverly would want the counsel of a professional, not to mention the wisdom of an artificial life form who moonlighted as a philosopher. In any event, the outcome was not in doubt, and besides, it might take weeks, or even months, to locate a suitable donor in a Federation medical facility. If Beverly wanted to spend that time contemplating her condition, so be it. Picard simply wanted to go back to the old routines. Coffee and croissants on the holodeck would be great fun. They could breakfast in a new setting every morning, and they could walk beneath the stars of a thousand skies at night. *** Picard drew in a deep breath before entering the holodeck. He had been summoned to hear Beverly's decision at last. She sat on her couch reading a book. "What are you reading?" It seemed as good a way as any to ease into the conversation. "'Frankenstein.'" "Interesting choice," Jean-Luc remarked nervously, as he recalled the plot of Shelley's novel. "It seemed fitting," Beverly replied, somewhat wryly, for a split second returning everything to what it once had been. "I'm glad you are here Jean-Luc. Sit down." She dropped the book on the coffee table, as Picard joined her on the couch. "I am sorry that I have kept you at arm's length the last couple of days Jean-Luc, but I needed to think about my future." "It's all right Beverly. But I hope you realize that I'm here to listen if you need a sounding board." Picard couldn't help but feel somewhat slighted, that Beverly chose not to turn to him for advice, and that emotion peeked through. "I know that Jean-Luc. But I really needed to keep a clear head as I thought about this." She paused briefly. "And I think you know how distracting you can be." Picard smiled. Yet again they were approaching that awkward crossroads, the one that had been turning their relationship in circles for years, as they clung to the fiction of being 'just friends,' adroitly avoiding a commitment to any direction. At this moment, Picard stood ready to choose any path before them, with only one proviso, no dead ends. "Jean-Luc, I know this is going to be hard for you to accept, but I have decided to refuse a donor. I'm going to tell Data to stop the search for a new body." She had said no. Picard sat in shocked silence, as the reality took a few moments to sink in. "Why?" It was all he could force out, as his throat tightened, nearly choking him on the word. "A lot of reasons," Beverly replied. "Not the least of which is the ethical implication of such a procedure. Frankly, I think such a *donation* goes too far. We are not talking about taking discrete organs from one person and giving them to another. We are talking about merging two people's identities." "Beverly that isn't so. This body will merely serve as a vessel for *your* identity." "Tell that to the family of the woman whose body I'll inhabit. Will they simply ignore the fact that her face now belongs to a stranger? No, as a doctor, I have spent my entire professional life fighting the urge to play god with people's lives. The mind and body are bound up together in ways we barely comprehend. One should not, and does not, live without the other. And I'm not ready to start splitting those matched sets up to create entirely new people. That's not a role I'm fit to fill. Nor is it a precedent I'm willing to set. Cheating death, by taking on the role of self-appointed creator, is a recipe for disaster Jean-Luc. I will not be the one to encourage legions of desperately ill or injured people to trade their souls, so that a trick of the transporter might allow them to hijack the dead and be reborn in new form. I do not want that responsibility. And even more, I do not want to become somebody new." "It's not somebody new. It's you, with a different face. This is no different than plastic surgery. You've never objected before to playing god with people's appearances." Picard couldn't help but sound defensive, or for that matter be somewhat obtuse. He was fighting for something too precious to lose. "Jean-Luc, you are ignoring the real implications of this procedure. This is no simple change in appearance. Do you really think my decision is some sort of vanity run amok?" Beverly didn't pause long enough to allow an answer to her accusation. "Don't you see Jean-Luc, taking somebody else's body means more than looking or sounding different. It means seeing and understanding things differently too. Sure this new person will have Beverly Crusher's memories and knowledge, but she won't process that information in the same way Beverly Crusher did. No two brains are the same, and no two bodies are the same either. Personalities, emotions are controlled by physical responses every bit as much as reasoned responses. The physical responses, the hormones, the thought patterns will all be different. That means I'll be different Jean-Luc. Don't you see? The body isn't just a vessel, or a shell, it is an integral part of who we are and how we act." "So we'll adjust." Picard had never made a more emphatic statement. Everything was slipping away now, leaving him with nothing left to lose. "For good or for bad, I love you Beverly. I have no idea where that leaves us, but I know that nothing can ever change what you mean to me. I don't care if your looks or your moods are altered. What counts is how we feel about each other, consequences be damned. We don't always have to carry the weight of the universe on our shoulders." "I love you too, Jean-Luc, more than I have ever let on, even to myself. And I don't want to risk that love, that feeling I have for you, for anything, not even my life. What if the new me doesn't care for you the way I do now? I can't face that. I can't face being a stranger to my self. And even if it somehow worked out for me, what about the next person, who in following my lead, the lead of a respected physician and scientist, is condemned to a living hell inside someone else's body? Do you want me to live with that on my conscience, if I am fortunate enough to even retain one?" She had finally shown him what very well could be the final piece to the puzzle of his life, only to tell him, in that same breath, he could not have it. But he wasn't going to let her go that easily. "You are only speculating Beverly. You can't be sure that the change in your personality will be so drastic as to turn you into some sort of stranger. Nor can you indict yourself for adhering to the ethics of wanting to live. Choosing to salvage your own life does not make you the Dr. Frankenstein of the 24th century," he argued, thrusting an accusing finger towards the book lying on the table. "You have nothing to lose in taking this risk Beverly. Think of the alternative. If you die, you lose everything." "No. Death means that my life ends on my own terms. It means that the people who matter to me remember me as the person I am, not as the person I will become." Beverly stood up, moving away from Picard. "I like the person that I am now. I love my friends and my career. What if the new Beverly doesn't feel that same rush when she saves a patient? What if the sound of music playing doesn't stir her to dance, or the scent of a perfect orchid doesn't make her want to reach into the dirt and plant more? If that Beverly can't find joy in my work or my hobbies, then I'd rather she didn't live my life for me." Jean-Luc battled the churning in his stomach. He was trying to understand Beverly's perspective, and it was killing him to admit that she had made a very good point. He wondered if he would want to go on living, knowing full well that everything that mattered to him now could become meaningless to him in the future. Were the memories worth anything if they could no longer be cherished or built upon? Was one life worth the prospect of turning humanity into a race of immortals, who scavenged off the bodies of their neighbors? Picard closed these thoughts out of his mind, focusing instead on the familiar lines of Beverly's face, seeing the better part of himself reflected back. Soon the doubt cluttering his mind slipped away. Love did bring a certain clarity, even if it might be a misguided sort of lucidity. "Jean-Luc?" He hadn't realized that he had never answered her, but she started talking again anyway, afraid of the silence. "Maybe I'm being selfish, but I just can't face the idea of all the people that matter to me remembering Beverly Crusher as her, even if I am some part of who she becomes, rather than as me alone. And perhaps some little part of me can't abide the thought of her stepping into my shoes and enjoying certain things that I never have experienced for myself, but might have found the courage for in the future." It seemed pointless to continue arguing for the donation in the abstract. All Picard had left was a plea of the most personal nature. "Beverly, I don't want to lose you." Vulnerability was not an emotion Jean-Luc was accustomed to showing, nor was it a tool he often used to his advantage, but this was the type of zero-sum game that offered no rewards for good sportsmanship. "And I don't want to leave. But, Jean-Luc, every reason for me to stay is also a reason for why I have to go." Beverly paused, looking back at him, her face transmitting the guilt that filled her thoughts. "I hate hurting you. You've had so much loss in your life. I never wanted to add to it." "Then don't. Accept the donor. At least give us a chance Beverly." "No. Life might be precious, Jean-Luc, but it is our identity that defines us and makes that life worth living. I won't exchange mine just so that someone else can draw breath, struggling each day to be true to a woman she can never really be again." "So, in spite of all you have to live for, you are refusing to take that risk?" Once he saw that she would not be goaded into living, he could not stop himself. His lips moved, seemingly of their own accord. "What about your son?" "Jean-Luc please don't be unfair. You know I would sacrifice anything, even my soul, if I thought Wesley couldn't let me go. But I know that he will understand, and agree with, the choice I'm making. He'll keep moving on with his life, and he'll have the memories of a woman, who loved him with all she had within her, to keep him company as he goes." Beverly's eyes, two windows that provided a flawless view into the circuitry of her soul, focused on Picard intently now. "You can take my love with you too Jean- Luc. Dying does not prevent me from leaving that behind. I want you and Wesley to have the legacy *I* would choose to leave for you. And that means I can't risk my love being tarnished by another heart." Picard hopped up from his seat now, pacing frenetically in front of her. "I know you are facing an incredible challenge Beverly, and I understand your fear, but you have no choice but to live. Refusing this procedure is no better than suicide. Suicide is wrong Beverly. You yourself have said that it is never an option. Remember. You refused to let Worf shy away from his disability. You wanted him to face his existence, no matter how much his injury impacted who he believed himself to be." "And I also remember that it was you who tried to convince me that he should be allowed to kill himself." "Only because it was his culture's way, and only because I wasn't sure a Klingon had the ability to live and to function as a disabled individual." Picard did not like having his own desperation thrown back in his face. "You are different Beverly. You can overcome this adversity. Yes, you will change, but I think you can turn that change to your advantage, and find a way to lead a totally fulfilling life." "Losing your identity is not a disability Jean-Luc. It is not some physical limitation you can simply learn to adapt too. It will adapt me." She was tired of defending her decision, tired of being crushed under the weight of doing the right thing. Her voice echoed the frustration. "I am dead Jean-Luc, and I can never come back. The memories can be resuscitated, but eventually they would just be swallowed up by another soul. You must accept that. *I* can never live again. Now, all that is left for me is to say good-bye. I have been given a wonderful gift Jean-Luc, the chance to exit this world leaving nothing left unsaid, to you, or to anyone else. I am not going to squander that chance." "So you just expect me to stand here and let you recite your last farewell, only to then watch you blink out of existence?" He could not face this kind of loss. Beverly may have well had asked him to saw off a limb. Such a request would render him no less incomplete. Suddenly, it occurred to him that she would never leave this world without making her peace with him. Without a word, Picard succumbed to the fear, turning and walking through the exit of the holodeck, knowing she could not follow. Reason grappled with the panic, pressing him onward, halting him only long enough to punch a few precautionary commands into the computer. In this moment, he would do anything to make her live, even if that meant a lifetime without ever seeing her again. *Part 7* Before he even reached his cabin, Picard realized that he had just committed the most selfish and thoughtless act of his entire life. Yet he did not turn around. The guilt could not yet overcome the confusion and heartache. Besides, considering what he had just said and done, Beverly might render him somewhat less of a man if he dared face her right now. And Picard did not entirely trust the holodeck safeties. He stepped inside his quarters and immediately headed for the replicator. He was nearly there, when he made a sharp left turn. Earl Grey would not do tonight. Jean-Luc searched about for a moment, still not entirely familiar with his new surroundings. At last he found the right cabinet. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of Saurian brandy. Nothing muddled the mind so as to make it clear better. One sip of the smooth liquid relaxed Picard enough to sit down and try to take stock of what had just happened. Jean-Luc ran through Beverly's arguments in his mind. He did not like that she was right. He'd like her better alive. The sting of his own selfishness was quickly numbed by another glass of brandy. But his mind was too disciplined to forget entirely. No matter how hard it would be, he needed to find a way to accept her death. He could not ask her to give up her identity any more than he could ask her to violate her own code of ethics. There would be no honor in that. Picard chuckled between sips at that thought. Worf had obviously rubbed off on him over the years. His mind operated through the haze. He had been a bachelor all his life. He could go on being a bachelor. That was not the kind of loneliness he feared. A family was a luxury that his chosen life had made difficult to afford. He would have taken a chance with Beverly, but Jean-Luc knew enough not to invest in what-ifs. His life had been too good to become mired in regret. But those considerations stood entirely apart from the prospect of losing the one connection that meant everything to him. Beverly's status was irrelevant; friend, lover, colleague, it didn't matter. Who she was to him did not change what she was to him, his touchstone. As an explorer, his mind constantly wandered to the next star, leaving him content to be alone with his thoughts and his vision. But Beverly would never let him stray too far into the isolation of his own world. She had found that tiny corner of his soul that could not fulfill itself with dreams or ideas, nourishing that small part of him that wanted to be rooted in the here and now. Losing Beverly meant being cast adrift, living without anyone who could understand. He could handle a life alone, but a life in isolation was a destiny he could not fathom. But Beverly's well-being left him with no choice. For her, he would do the impossible. For her, he would let go. His thoughts turned to tomorrow. Tomorrow he would find the nerve to apologize, as well as the courage to be supportive. He wanted to be the friend Beverly needed. She had stood by him during every imaginable situation. Now he could only show his love for her by letting go gracefully. If nothing else, starship captains excelled at dignity. He could hate himself for every day for the rest of his life after tomorrow if need be, but nothing could be allowed to interfere with Beverly's chance to go peacefully. She deserved nothing less. Even through his stupor, Jean-Luc could feel the shame of storming out on her building steadily inside. In response, he ordered a full retreat into the safe harbor of the bottle. Soon his eyelids grew heavy, and he could sense that tears were not very far from falling. He did not want to lose control yet. He might never find it again. One last glass of brandy helped him forget completely. He stood up and staggered into his bedroom. With sleep came denial, a sort of Pyrrhic Victory for the broken man. Jean-Luc slowly peeled his eyes open to meet ship's pre-dawn. The drumming in his head and roiling of his stomach mercilessly reminded him that a night's comfort did not come without a physical price. The earliness of the hour could not coax Picard back to sleep, as reality joined the hangover in the onslaught. A cold shower offered the only escape. Jean-Luc rested his forehead against the tile of the shower, as the cool water washed over him. While waiting to feel halfway human again, he tried to make sense of the odd dreams that had plagued his sleep. He had been transported back to his childhood hideaway, a place that had beheld the discovery of countless exotic worlds, stood sentry over mythic battles, and witnessed the unearthing of priceless treasures. Jean-Luc's youthful imagination had transformed this small forest clearing into his own enchanted garden. Whenever he needed something, he always found it there. There anything could happen for the child who believed. His aching brain could make no sense of why his subconscious would opt for nostalgia to occupy itself in the face of tragedy. Safety perhaps. But those memories were so far removed from his current life. It too frustratingly vague and obscure to reveal anything more than the pounding in his head. Dream analysis never was his strong suit. So Picard turned his thoughts to the healing powers of a hypospray. He had no desire, however, to let the acting chief medical officer know that he had used alcohol as a coping mechanism. It was still the night shift. He could probably sneak into sickbay and activate the emergency medical hologram without being detected. Then he remembered the bedside manner of the man from when they had activated him during a drill the first week of the shakedown cruise. He found it hard to believe that Starfleet Medical couldn't do better than that. Jean- Luc's eyes shot open. It was so obvious, that he could not believe he had not thought of it before. **Part 8** Picard bounded out of Data's quarters. The android had told him exactly what he wanted to hear. Beverly could exist indefinitely on the holodeck, and with only a few modifications, she could be put right back to work as CMO. Data had even suggested that they might be able to eventually project her into other areas of the ship. With this confirmation in hand, Jean-Luc headed for the holodeck. He paused just before entering, apprehensive at the thought of what Beverly might do to him when she opened her eyes to see him first thing in the morning. He could only hope that an apology, coupled with his good news, would spare him her well-deserved wrath. As he entered, Jean-Luc was surprised to find Beverly not asleep, but instead sitting with her nose buried in a book, one of the twenty mammoth volumes of 'The Anthology Of T'treinan Mythology.' He had never known her to be quite this avid or ambitious a reader. She looked at him briefly before coldly returning her gaze to the page. "You are awake." It was a stupid thing to say considering the circumstances, but Jean-Luc did not know what else to do. 'I'm sorry' seemed almost cheap in comparison to the wrong he had committed yesterday. Beverly did not look up as she answered him. "What made you think that a hologram required sleep?" The question packed quite a sting in its delivery, but Picard did not back away. "I guess I lost track of the fact that we are on the holodeck. I see your face and I immediately forget that your appearance is artificial. Everything about you is real to me Beverly. I apologize. It is insensitive of me to expect you to act as if nothing has changed. I know it has been difficult for you to make the transition, and I am not making it any easier for you by ignoring the fact that you are different." That apology seemed to soften her up. Now she would at least look at him. So Jean-Luc gamely forged ahead with his more serious apology. Once that was dispensed with, he would be able to let her in on the news. She was going to live, and it was going to be a surprisingly full life at that. "Beverly, I've come to offer an apology for my actions yesterday. Walking out on you was inexcusable. To be honest, I was devastated by your decision, and, in the heat of the moment, running away presented itself as the best option." Beverly opened her mouth as if to speak, but Picard motioned to her to stop. "Please let me finish. I was wrong, and for that I am sorry. I acted out of selfishness rather than love, and in so doing I treated you with a profound lack of respect. But I did a lot of thinking last night, and I have come to understand your reasons. I won't pressure you any further to go through with the donation." "Apology accepted." Jean-Luc did not quite know what to make of the terse response. It had not been said with anger, and she did not look mad, but he was stunned that she had accepted his apology so quickly and succinctly. He knew that he had hurt her, but she seemed disinterested in working it out, or in more typical Beverly Crusher fashion, letting it out. "Was there something more you wanted me to say?" she asked. "No. I guess I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop." "You'll be waiting a long time then Jean-Luc. I don't have the time or the energy to be my old contentious self. I guess that means my temper died with my body, because I'm just not that mad at you. Chalk that up as one more reason not to accept a donor. I don't think I could handle living in a world that wasn't filled with constant irritation. In the absence of my Howard temper, I think I'd bore myself to death. In any event, all that is left for me now is to say my piece and leave this life with my dignity intact. I have no intention of asking for your permission to leave. My love for you does not make you my keeper. I want you to be okay with my decision, but your feelings are your own business Jean-Luc. If you will hear what I have to say, then I am glad, but if you won't listen then it is out of my hands." "Beverly, this entire argument is moot now. We have all been so focused on the need for you to be transported back into a body, that we have ignored the fact that you can continue to exist as a hologram. I realize that it is far from a perfect solution, but it would allow you, the true Beverly Crusher, to continue to live." "Jean-Luc please don't go down this road," she offered nervously. He ignored her, as his enthusiasm deafened him to anything negative that could be offered against this solution. "You would not be entirely confined to the holodeck. Data told me that the holographic system in sickbay could be modified so that you can replace the emergency medical hologram. That means you can continue as CMO. Obviously, future away missions are out of the question, but you can still treat patients and make command decisions. You will still be a doctor Beverly. The holodeck memory system can be upgraded to hold your signature indefinitely, that means you can live in any surroundings you choose for as long as you choose. I know that you would feel isolated, but Beverly I am willing to move on to the holodeck with you. There is no reason why we can't try a future together. I know you want to know if we can make 'us' a reality as much as I do. Take a chance with me Beverly. Your range of movement might be limited, but your life will be anything but. And even the limits are not necessarily forever. Data believes that with some work, he can eventually create a mobile projection system. That means that you can go anywhere you wish." "I know how much you want me to live Jean-Luc, almost as much as I want it myself. But being a hologram is not living. Being a hologram is worse than being dead, because the computer cuts me off from everything I understand, and yet it refuses to release me. I want to take the next step Jean-Luc. Whatever it is, I want to take it." Beverly paused to give him time to understand her meaning, but his face remained fixed on the hope of a few seconds ago. "A life without experiences is no life at all." "You do experience things Beverly. If you didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation." "Yes, in a technical sense, I am still experiencing things, but you have no grasp on what it means to exist in my world. It means that everything, every moment, is just a stream of data. But that data does not come in the form of taste, touch, sight, hearing or smell. No, it comes in the form of binary code. The computer sees you, hears you, smells you, and so on and then transforms that information into a series of numbers, which my program then feeds to my neural signature, which is also a collection of numbers. All the numbers interact according to some complicated program only Data can make sense of, and then voila, I experience a thought, or a reaction, or an emotion, which is of course quickly shunted back through the program so that the result can be animated by my hologram. Ingenious really. Too bad I'm sentient and therefore aspire to more than a life running through an endless information loop. Why do you think I'm always reading? It is the only kind of artificial experience that even remotely mimicks the human experience. A book contains a story told in the words of a language. Binary code is my new language, which the computer translates for me. It is up to the imagination of the reader to give the words on the page life. Fortunately, I still have an imagination. I can make the words live in my mind, but I can't make you live Jean- Luc. I can't make you live, because the human medium is perception, and that is something a computer can't fake. The computer can tell me all about a fiery Jonaran sunset, but I can only imagine that it is beautiful. I can not know its beauty for myself. Everything wonderful in this world comes from what we sense, not from what we are told. I want my life to be more than that story the computer will read to me. Jean-Luc do you really want to make love to a woman who feels your touch as a sophisticated series of numbers? You know that passion can not live in a string of zeroes and ones." Picard hung his head. For the first time, he really understood the emptiness of her new life. The computer could fool him, but it could not fool itself. It could approximate life, but it could not give it. At last, he saw Beverly for who she really was: the ghost in the machine. He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. She had been suffering all this time, and he had cavalierly suggested a lifetime more of the same. But perhaps what hurt the most in this moment was that he had told her he loved her and she had not understood. She could 'hear' his statement, but all of the conviction and tenderness in his delivery had fallen on the deaf ear of the machine. She could guess at his meaning, but she could not feel it. "I'm sorry Beverly." It was all he could think to say. "Jean-Luc, I don't blame you. If our roles were reversed, I am sure I would have been just as anxious as you to believe. It is easy to anthropomorphize a hologram. That is the whole point of the holodeck. It is just that things become confused when you try to introduce something real into a fictional world. People don't play by the same rules as holographic characters." "There are so many things I should have done differently. You should have told me to keep my opinions to myself when I encouraged you to go on that mission. I was a fool to think that we had time to get around to saying all the things that needed to be said. With all the loss in my life, you'd think I would have learned that lesson by now." Beverly reached for his hand and squeezed it tight. Now that she knew he understood, on some level, the fiction, it did not seem to bother her so much to fake it. "You are not the only one who could have done things differently. When Jack died, I swore I would live every minute like it was my last. Over and over in my mind I questioned myself. 'Did I tell him I loved him enough times so that he knew it for sure when he died?' But a few years passed, and I went back to being complacent. I let so many ghosts get in our way Jean-Luc. I passed up every opportunity, because I always thought there would be another that would come when I was not so afraid. Now I'd consider myself lucky to even be able to feel the fear." A moment lingered between them, and Beverly decided there was nothing to lose now. She had promised herself that nothing would be left unsaid. "Jean-Luc, I can't promise that we would have ever made it, after all people can change and our lives are not always under our control. But I can promise you that it would never have been for a lack of love. I have never respected or loved any man more in my life. *Any* man, Jean-Luc. I think that might be something you never had any faith in, but it is true. For a man who is so self-assured, you have very little confidence in what you have to offer. Unfortunately, we both let history get the best of us. I was scared. You felt guilty. I guess we never stood a chance. Funny thing was, even a ghost couldn't keep us apart. We still found a way to be together, and in the way that matters most, as two people who were exactly what each other needed, exactly when they needed it. It was a good ride Jean-Luc, even if it did end too soon. I don't measure what we were to each other in gold bands, and neither should you." "That goes both ways Beverly. You are the only woman I have ever committed to, even if that commitment remained unspoken until now. I can only say that I love you, and that I'll never forget you. I'll never be able to look past the huge hole that's been ripped through me." "Well, I hope you always remember me, and fondly at that, I would be forced to haunt you if you didn't, but my death is not an excuse for you to bury your head in the sand. Much as you hate to admit it, Jean-Luc Picard, you need people as much as the next man. Don't be afraid to share yourself. There are so many people besides me that love you. You can find what you need with them, so long as you are not afraid to look for it. You don't need me to show it to you. The grief will lessen each day, and soon you will realize that you have an entire life still left to live. Live it. I speak from experience Jean-Luc. It will happen." Picard dropped his head as a single tear rolled down his cheek. He could only subdue the fear and the grief so much. Beverly reached for his chin and lifted it slowly. She wanted to give him something he could hang on to, no matter how much it hurt to give. She brushed her lips against his, slowly deepening their touch into a passionate kiss. "Believe in that," she whispered as she pulled away. Jean-Luc pulled her close again and whispered into her ear. "I believe." He understood how hard it must have been for her to experience that moment as something less than what it was, but it only proved the unselfishness of her love. He would hold on to its tender warmth forever, keeping it as a tangible reminder never to regret. They had shared far too much that was good. They had not explored every option, but that made their relationship no less complete. Picard let go of her and stepped away. In this moment, there really was nothing left to say. "What now?" he asked, steeling himself for the inevitable good-bye with the lingering taste of their kiss. If only she could be as real as she felt to him. "I guess good-bye. I spent last night recording messages to all my loved ones. I do not think I could handle a parade of mourners in my last hour. I'd rather go knowing that the last they see of me will be me at my best and most thoughtful. Now I think I could only muster gibberish for each farewell. I'd rather my death not be prolonged." "Do you want me to leave?" Jean-Luc had no idea which would be worse, confronting her death with her, or running like a scared child and never knowing what she saw in her final moment, never knowing whether or not he could have made it easier. "I don't know. I thought I had completely prepared myself, but now I'm petrified. I know I have to do it, but it is still suicide. I can't run from the reality of what I am doing. I never thought I would be the kind of person who would take her own life." Jean- Luc noticed that even artificial legs could grow unsteady. "I'm inviting myself into the unknown Jean-Luc. What if the unknown takes offense?" "You don't have to do this alone Beverly. Suicide is not your only option." Could he live with what he was suggesting? Maybe not, but he knew he could never live knowing he could have lessened her final burden but didn't. "You would do that for me?" Jean-Luc reached for both her hands and took a deep breath. They stood facing each other, seeing one another for the last time. "I love you Beverly Crusher. Take that with you wherever your journey leads you." He was about to call out his order to the computer, when she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. She brushed against his cheek, as she spoke into his ear. "When we kissed I almost felt your touch. In that brief moment, you had the power to make me believe one last time. Thank you for that Jean-Luc." She quickly kissed his cheek and then tightened their hug. She was ready. "Computer end program." The light froze in his arms and then flashed away. "Computer erase Crusher neural signature." It took the computer a moment longer than usual, as it purged the enormous file. But it was still only a matter of seconds before an entire life disappeared. Picard stood alone on the holodeck. His still outstretched arms now empty. He looked toward the doors, but decided instead to sit down on the gridded floor and ponder the future. His new life would still be there waiting when he found the courage to walk out and face it. He could only hope that the unknown would be kind ... to both of them. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yours in the belief that the Founders were right all along, but the results were alot funnier than they intended. - Molly Ivins