Demons Among The Stars

Part 4

A week went by. The Enterprise was assigned to an exploration mission and sent travelling towards a sector of the Alpha quadrant, just a few of light years away from the borders of Federation space, that still hadn't been properly charted. Hours ticked by between reports, sensor scans, teams being assembled and beamed down on the three M-class planets they had found. The ship was buzzing with constant activity, as it always did whenever the chance of new discoveries was in the air. The general mood seemed to inspire productivity and all Departments, even the ones not directly involved in the mission, had launched themselves in a new wave of experimentation, perfecting the already existing systems and trying to push the efficiency levels. One just needed to sit in Ten Forward and listen to the ongoing conversations or count the ever-present PADDs to get an idea of the high spirits of the crew were.

Picard had to admit to himself that it was a lucky coincidence. The general atmosphere and the continuous flood of reports that required his attention were perfect distraction from the static wait that had been forced on him, leaving him on the edge with the knowledge that it most likely was the deceiving calm before yet another storm. He had even managed to talk Riker into letting him joining one of the away teams, reassuring his First Officer that he would have been perfectly safe and that it wouldn't be breaking any kind of protocol. The walk he had taken had definitely helped him both stretching his legs and soothing his nerves. Touching the real world outside the confinements of the ship, feeling the light of the planet's star on his skin, the dirt under his boots, the slightly chilly air and the alien scent of the atmosphere...They had effectively taken his mind off the dream universes that had occupied it far too often lately.

However, it was also to be said that, despite the ever growing anticipation, the more time passed, the easier it became for him to talk himself into believing that his initial guess had to be right and that Q was probably waiting for things to calm down before making his next appearance. He had actively worked to discard all the other possibilities, at least for the moment. There was no need to torment himself with what-ifs, not while he had no reason to foresee the worse.

He had the feeling that he had Deanna Troi to thank for most of the so many diversions that filled his days, including his Number One's capitulation. The Counsellor had been watching him like a hawk since the night he had woken up and found her in his lodgings, distressed and concerned beyond words. Even though he considered her worries excessive, he couldn't blame her for wanting to keep an eye on him after what had happened.

After all, he would have lied if he had said that, even without the nightmares, his sleep had truly got better. He managed to rest more than he had in the previous weeks, but, unfortunately, in his nights he didn't have all the distractions that were offered to him while he was awake. During those quiet hours, his subconscious tended to dwell among all the thoughts, all the scenarios and all the possibilities he succeeded in keeping at bay during the day. He always woke up with a sense of confusion or even of failure, and at times he had jolted awake with his hands stretched out, as if he had been trying to desperately reach for something. Answers, most likely, the ones that he couldn't achieve on his own.

He hadn't told Troi about his slightly tormented sleep, until one night she had caught him red-handed, rummaging through Starfleet's archives well past his bed time, looking for anything that might have been connected to the conflict Q had mentioned about. He doubted that the Continuum would have dragged its war to their universe, or to any other as a matter of fact, not with how private and mysterious they tended to be, but he had decided that checking couldn't have hurt. Besides, he had been in need of something that could occupy his hands, since he hadn't been able to fall asleep. Deanna had given him a look that said every possible word that could have ever been spoken on the topic of developing unhealthy obsessions, but then she had sat down and had started to help him in his search.