Chain of the Mind

Author's Note: This story was first published in 1997 in the fanzine Four Lights 1.

Disclaimer: The crew of the Enterprise doesn't belong to me.

Four lights. There are four lights. Four lights...four lights. The words were in his mind, echoing over and over with each trembling step. Four lights...four lights.

Madred didn't move, but he watched, his face an expressionless mask. There are five lights, Human. Five lights.

The guards took Picard by the shoulders, and he jerked away from them, groaning sharply. Four lights. He didn't want their help, didn't want to feel their hands on him. He swayed unsteadily into one of them, but he regained his balance and kept on walking. Four lights. There are four lights. Four lights.

Madred sneered silently, his lips curling. What a stupid little Human. So pathetic. There are five lights.

Picard continued to plod toward the door, the dull sound of his bare feet on the floor keeping rhythm with the words. Four lights. Four lights. A step. A step. Four lights. A step.

Let him go, Madred thought. Let him go. One less thing to bother with.

The door slid open in front of Picard, and he could see the corridor, dim, shadowed. So close. He'd seen it before, had almost reached it before... The aching muscles in his neck and back tightened defensively; he expected to hear Madred's voice, cold, calculated, his words stopping him. But there was silence as he passed through the door, trailed by the guards and Lemec. Silence...except for the cadence in his head. Four lights. Four lights. He didn't look back, and the door closed behind them.

Madred turned in his chair, stared up at the four lights above him. He sighed. Good. He's gone. He drew in a breath. No. He was never here.

~vVv~

One guard took a forward position, and Picard followed, slowly, docilely. Four lights, four lights. Wherever they were taking him, he had no choice but to go with them. If Lemec had lied, if they weren't returning him to the Enterprise, then there was really nothing he could do. Nothing. Nothing... Four lights.

"Faster, Human," the other guard spat, pushing him roughly from behind. What useless creatures.

Staggering, Picard fell to the floor, the left side of his face hitting hard against the stone. There are four lights. His teeth bit down on his tongue, and he tasted the rusty tang of blood in his mouth. It was a taste he had grown used to.

"Careful with him," Lemec hissed. "I don't want him injured any further." Federation scum.

The guards lifted Picard to his feet and held him until he was able to stand on his own. He pulled away from their grasp. There are four lights.

"Let's get on with it," Lemec ordered. Get it over with.

They trudged twenty meters down the corridor, plain, unadorned gray walls on either side. Four lights, four lights. And then a door to their left slid open. Picard followed the guard inside.

The room was all black tile and stainless steel, and Picard cringed with thoughts of more torture, especially when the lead guard reached over and tore off the shirt he was wearing. There are four lights. Four lights. Naked, he stood there shivering in the cool air, his flesh prickling with fear and apprehension. There are four lights. Four lights.

Lemec studied the Human's body, the bruises, abrasions. Madred's toy. His plaything. Damaged goods. He smiled. And now he has to give it back.

"There's a shower over there," one of the guards said, pointing to the far corner of the room. "Clean yourself, Human," he jeered. And the other guard laughed. What filth.

Picard unsteadily made his way across the room…four lights…his eyes focusing so hard on the shower door that his vision blurred. Four lights. There are four lights. He reached the shower; the door opened. He hesitated. A guard pushed him. He stumbled inside; the door closed. Water came on automatically, scalding hot needles that burned his flesh, penetrated his chest and back, his legs, his scalp. But the pain was nothing…nothing compared to what he had already endured, and he stood there under the pelting drops for long minutes, until weakness and wracking sobs overtook him. He slid to the floor of the shower, crying uncontrollably.

~vVv~

He wasn't sure when the water had stopped. All he knew was that he was cold. Bitterly cold. There are four lights. His head ached painfully and his joints felt frozen in the cramped position he'd taken on the floor of the small shower stall, pressed into the corner, his chin tucked to his chest.

He opened his eyes, saw four lights. He blinked. The lights were gone. Tentatively, he moved his arms and legs, and they tingled sharply as feeling, pain, flooded back into them, replacing the numbness. He groaned and waited several minutes before he slowly tried to stand. Just as he got one leg under him, the door swung open.

A guard stared down at him. There are four lights. Picard tried to shrink away, but the Cardassian reached in, pulled his head back awkwardly, and held him there, the thin skin of his throat exposed, like an offering. A lamb to the slaughter. He lathered Picard's face with a caustic soap that stung his eyes and swollen lips. Four lights, four lights.

"We wouldn't want to send you back with more hair than when you arrived," the guard laughed, taking a long straight razor and running it up Picard's neck, over his chin and cheeks, the sharp edge biting into his skin. There...are…four...lights. He knelt, helpless, until the guard was finished.

"Now, dry yourself off," the Cardassian growled as he pulled him from the shower, shoving him roughly into the middle of the room. How ugly the Human body is. How small. Again, he laughed.

The air outside was even colder, and Picard shivered fiercely for several long minutes, an eternity, standing in the middle of the room, his gaze never lifting from the tile floor. He could feel their eyes on him. Four lights. There are four lights. Finally, the other guard threw him a small, threadbare towel. He dried his face first, wiping away the soap and blood; then he toweled the rest of his body, rubbing the cloth roughly against his skin to warm himself. Despite the shower, he was still dirty. But no one seemed to notice...or care.

"Dress him," Lemec ordered from the side of the room. "I can't return him this way. Not the decorated captain of the Federation's flagship. What would his crew think of him? Especially in his undecorated state."

And although Picard struggled, one guard held him tightly as the other forced him into a loose fitting shirt and baggy trousers. He hated the feel of their hands on his body, touching him. Four lights. There are four lights.

They started to put boots on his feet, but Lemec stopped them. "Give him to me," he said impatiently, reaching out and taking hold of Picard's shoulder.

Picard tried to resist, but found that he couldn't. Lemec's grip was like a steel vise digging into his muscles. And he felt his head swim nauseously when the Cardassian transporter beam took hold of him. There are four...

~vVv~

They put him in a small cabin on the Cardassian ship. It was dark, no lights...warm, almost soothing. But the alien transporter had been too much of a strain on his system, and as soon as the door slid closed behind him, he became violently ill. Kneeling on his hands and knees, he expelled the meager contents of his stomach: the Tespa and the cheese and fruit Madred had given him earlier. Perspiration beaded across his forehead, and his skin was cold and clammy. Too weak and exhausted to climb onto the bed, he rolled over onto his side, rested his head on his arm, and fell into a restless sleep.

~vVv~

Light. One light. Not four. Bright. Voices. No, one voice. Loud in his ears. He groaned and turned over on his back, looked up at the open door.

"On your feet. Human." Lemec glared at Picard. He lay in a heap on the floor, his own vomit staining his face and clothes. Like garbage.

Picard squinted against the brightness.

"I said on your feet. Now!"

The toe of a boot shoved him in the ribs, and he gasped for a breath that was not there, feeling the sharp crack of bones against his lungs. There are four lights. Slowly, his chest burning with pain, he pushed himself up off the floor, falling forward into Lemec's arms as a wave of dizziness hit him.

"Stand up," the Cardassian snapped, pushing him away. "We're sending you back to your ship."

And the jagged edges of Lemec's face melted in front of him as once again he was enveloped by a transporter beam.

~vVv~

Beverly Crusher's heart beat. Hard, fast. She waited.

The air above the transporter pad shimmered, folded and solidified into Jean-Luc Picard. She gasped. My god. He seemed to barely be standing, held up like a broken puppet, waiting for the last string to snap. His clothing was torn, stained, his feet bare. She was beside him immediately, wrapping one hand securely around his arm, running a tricorder over his body with the other. I'm here, Jean-Luc. I'm here. The left side of his face was terribly swollen, his temple bruised, his lower lip split in several places, dried blood smeared along his chin.

He raised his head and looked at her with dull, tear-filled green eyes. "Be...Beverly?" he rasped, his throat sore and dry. Beverly...

And in that one word, she could hear his pain and fear, could feel it wash over her. She tightened her hand around his arm. "It's all right, Jean-Luc. You're home." With me.

Home. He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to believe that he was home. Really home. When he opened his eyes, Will Riker was there, holding his hand out to him.

Picard shook his head, refusing his first officer's help. "I'm fine, Will," he murmured. "I can manage." There are four lights.

Taking a shallow, painful breath, his hand moving up to his chest to cover his ribs, he stepped off the transporter pad, Crusher still holding his arm. She steered him toward the door.

"Beverly..." he started to protest her attentiveness.

"I'm taking you to Sickbay." Her voice was firm. "No arguments."

He sighed heavily in agreement, too tired to argue. "No... arguments."

Crusher felt him lean against her, almost all of his weight, and she put her arm around his shoulders, held him up. What did they do to you? Together, they stepped towards the door, and it slid open.

Picard was only vaguely aware of the other crew members surrounding him. Riker was there, and Troi, maybe O'Brien. No, can't be O'Brien...can't be...he's... But all he could concentrate on was each step. And as he walked, the silent litany returned. Four lights. There are four lights. Four lights. They entered the corridor, and he allowed Crusher to guide him. Four lights. There are...four lights. Four...lights. His breathing was labored now, and he felt nauseous, dizzy. He stumbled and began to fall. Gentle hands caught him, strong arms picked him up, holding him like a baby, his head cradled against a warm, broad shoulder.

"I've got him, Beverly," Riker whispered. I've got him.

~vVv~

He felt himself being lowered, and he clung to Riker's uniform... there are four lights...began to cry and shake his head back and forth. Hold me. He didn't want to let go, didn't want to leave the safe haven of the warm arms that carried him. Four lights.

"Shh, Jean-Luc." Crusher's hand touched his forehead. "You're all right. You're in Sickbay. I'm here." Right here.

Beverly. Hold me.

Riker laid him on a bed and gently removed Picard's clenched hands from the front of his uniform. "I'll be right here," he assured his captain, his voice tight with emotion. Troi stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Riker felt her presence in his mind, calm in the midst of his own inner turmoil. Deanna. She smiled softly at him. Imzadi.

Picard was tossing on the bio-bed, struggling to get up. There are four lights.

"I don't want to have to do this, but I need him to lie still," Crusher explained as she stepped over and pressed a sensor pad on the wall panel. "I want to avoid sedating him until I'm finished with my examination."

A restraining field covered Picard's body, greatly reducing his movement. He lay there, staring up at the faces above him as they slowly came into focus. Will... Deanna... They weren't Cardassians. Madred wasn't among them. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Beverly... "Beverly?"

Her face leaned closer to his. "I'm here. I'm going to examine you, Jean-Luc. Don't try to move. It won't hurt." She straightened back up, and he felt someone begin to remove his clothes. He screamed at the unfamiliar touch of the nurse's hands.

"I'll do it," Crusher said quickly. And then the hands that touched his body were hers. Soft, warm, gentle. Familiar. Beverly's. He closed his eyes and allowed her to take care of him.

~vVv~