Part One

SPACEDOCK, EARTH

2293 Old Earth Date

ONE

In the captain's quarters aboard the Enterprise-A the
nautical clock chimed, breaking the silence to softly
mark the passage of time. James Kirk paused over the
suitcase open on his bunk, neatly folded civilian tunic in
hand, and straightened to listen. As he did, a second
clock--an antique mantelpiece, cased in polished dark
cherry and wound for the first time in years, specially for
this occasion--began to strike the hour.
    Nineteen hundred hours. Spock and McCoy would be
arriving soon to accompany him on the long gauntlet of
traditional firewatch parties--the crew's celebration of
the last night aboard a vessel at the end of a long
mission.
    Nineteen hundred hours, the sound of time moving
inexorably onward. The night had already begun and
would move all too swiftly to its inevitable conclusion.
    Kirk dropped the tunic inside the suitcase and moved
over to the bulkhead to press a control, key in a code. A
panel slid up, and he retrieved a handful of small cases,
each of which hid a medal. He did not stop to examine
them, but placed them carefully in the suitcase, just as he

had done a handful of times before in his life, when he
had taken leave of the captain's quarters in the very
same fashion and wondered whether it might be his last.
    He had wondered a lifetime ago, when he was still
young and the first starship named Enterprise had
returned to spacedock at the end of her five-year mis-
sion. He had been angry then at the realization that
Admiral Nogura was determined to force him into
accepting a promotion to the admiralty, and a desk job.
Now there was no anger, no frustration--only sadness
and an overwhelming sense of loss. And a faint stirring
of pride at the memory of when, all those years ago, he
had fought to get his ship back--had taken on
Heihachiro Nogura, the head of Starfleet himself, and
won.
    This time, Kirk did not wonder whether this would be
the last night he would stand aboard the Enterprise as
her captain. There could be no doubt that it was. He and
the ship were both to be decommissioned, along with the
senior bridge crew: Spock, McCoy, Uhura--even Scot-
ty, who had chosen to take retirement rather than
remain in Starfleet without the opportunity to serve with
this particular crew.
    There could be no more gambits, no more ploys to get
his ship back, to stave off the inevitable. He had ex-
hausted them all; and now he himself was exhausted
after fighting so many years to keep his command. He
absently massaged an aching muscle in his back, recently
injured while working in the mines on the Klingon penal
colony of Rura Penthe. He had not been able to bring
himself to trouble McCoy about it; it would have been
an admission of the truthmthat he was getting too old to
withstand the rigors of the captaincy.

    He looked about for something else to pack, reached
for a holo on the dresser, and gazed into the smiling
countenance of his and Carol's son, David. David, too,
had fallen prey to time some years before, when he died
at Klingon hands. Kirk gently set the picture back down,
beside the mantel clock and antique paper book set aside
for the occasion. David's holo was always the first thing
he set in a cabin to make it his own, the last thing he
packed before leaving. It would stay on his dresser until
morning, when he packed it along with his captain's
uniform.
    The intercom whistled; he winced at the twinge of
pain in his back as he wheeled abruptly to punch the
toggle and respond. "Kirk here."
    A familiar feminine voice filtered through the grid.
"Uhura, Captain. I--"
    He interrupted, "I thought you were supposed to be
on your way to a firewatch party, Commander."
      "I am, sir." He could hear her smile. "But I had a few
minutes left, and I wanted to spend them on duty."
  "Understood," Kirk said softly.
    "Sir, the subspace interference has eased. I was finally
able to clear a channel to Starbase Twenty-three. I can
even get you that visual now--but I'm warning you, the
reception isn't that great."
  "Uhura, you're a marvel."
  "I know, sir."
    "Patch it through to my quarters." Aware of the
sudden rapidity of his heartbeat, he strode over to the
viewer and watched a burst of visual static on the screen.
It resolved itself into the greenish and slightly fritzed
image of Carol Marcus, against a setting Jim recognized
as her hospital bed on the starbase. He had visited her

4                                                 5

 there once, before he was called away to what the media
 were already calling the Khitomer mission--his and the
 Enterprise-A's final mission. Carol had been almost
 fatally wounded in an apparent Klingon attack; she had
 been unconscious his entire stay, and he had left fearful
 that he would never see her again.
     He had promised himself that, if and when he had
 another chance to speak to her, it would be to say that he
 was coming home to her, never again to leave. The pain
 of losing the Enterprise was eased by knowing that Carol
 was all right, that she would be waiting for him.
     "Carol?" The words came out in a rush. "Carol, thank
 God, you have no idea how good it is to see you awake.
 When I left you, I was so afraid--"
     She spoke at the same time. "Jim. Oh, God, Jim, they
 said the Klingons charged you with Gorkon's murder
 and shipped you off to that terrible prison. I was so
 afraid--"
    They both broke off at the same instant and laughed
gently, delightedly. "It looks like you survived," Carol
said at last. It was hard to tell with the bad reception, but
she seemed the same shade of pastel green as her
normally golden hair, as the pillows propped behind
her--which gave him the impression that she was
terribly pale. Yet she seemed herself, and in her lap lay a
padd; she had been sitting up working.
  He grinned. "Always. How about you?"
    "Doctor tells me I can be out of here in a day, at most
two. So you're really all right?"
    "I'm all right. Just out of a job, starting tomorrow. I'm
sitting in spacedock, Carol. They're decommissioning
us." He tried to sound cavalier, but the heaviness came
through despite his efforts.

         IAK 1 Kr, ik wdr',l]ElXAl iL/l,lo

    Her smile faded; she was silent a beat, then said, "I'm
truly sorry, Jim."
 "It's not like I didn't see it coming." He shrugged and
               ú             '' O
managed a hghter tone. S ... what are you going to be
doing in a day or two?"
    She brightened and straightened in her seat; he fan-
cied he detected a gleam of intensity in her eyes, the one
she always got when speaking about work that was
important to her. "I'm going to rebuild the Themis
research station, Jim. Now that things with the Klingons
are settling down--"
    He cut her off. "Carol, you almost died. It's time to
take things easy, not to rush into a massive undertak-
ing."
    Her lip quirked with fond exasperation. "You're one
to talk. How many times have you almost been killed?
And still I couldn't hold you back from that damned
ship of yours with a tractor beam--"
     "Well, you've got the opportunity now." He tried to
 keep the irony he felt from his tone. "I've got time on my
 hands now. And I want to spend it with you."
     "Well, of course. You know I'm always glad to see you,
 Jim. But it won't be much of a vacation on Themis.
 There's nothing to see except a scorched research
 station .... "
     "Dammit," he said lightly, "could you help me out
 little here? I'm not talking about a weekend on
 while you workú I'm talking about a honeymoon."
     She released a startled little laugh, and despite
 fuzzy reception, seemed to color a bit. "Jim,"
 admonished, smiling, and with that one word
 to convey, You're joking, right?
  "I'm serious," he said. "Don't tell me you haven't

6                                                                        7

been expecting this." He had thought it had been clear to
her; he tried now vainly to recall the conversation, the
precise words they had used to state that they would
marry once he retired, but the specific memory eluded
him.
    "I haven't been expecting this." Her smile vanished,
replaced by an expression of concern. "Jim, you know
the time we spend together is special to me, but... we
never said anything about legalities."
    "I'm saying it now. I love you, Carol. I always thought
we'd be together once I retired. That we'd settle down.
You even said Marcuslabs could use someone like
me--"
    "As for Marcuslabs, I'll hire you in a heartbeat, if you
want. You're someone with connections who could go all
over the galaxy facilitating the creation of new research
stations. Plenty of travel, a chance to practice your
diplomacy. But I wouldn't be able to travel with you."
She let go a long breath. "Jim, I love you, but you
couldn't settle down if you wanted to. You'll be on the
move, restless, looking for excitement until the day you
die. If you're suggesting we buy a little condo somewhere
and take up housekeeping--it'd be death for both of
US."
 "I see," he said quietly.
 "Jim, don't be hurt."
    "No... no, you're right," he admitted weakly; what
was worse, he meant it. Somewhere, in the deepest
recesses of his mind, he had seen this very scene played
out before, had known it was coming--yet he still felt as
though the deck had been pulled from under his feet.
"I'm not hurt, just... tired. Looking for someplace to
rest. It's been a tough last mission."

 "Then come see me. We should talk."
 Behind him, the door chimed. He glanced toward it,
then back at Carol. "I have to go. Firewatch parties."
  "I love you, Jim."
    He touched the screen as if to take her hand, to hold
on to her--on to the present, but he could sense her and
time slipping away from him, like the ship on which he
stood.
     The screen darkened; Kirk turned toward the door
 and said, "Come."
     Spock entered, carrying two packages--a smaller
 stacked atop a larger, both precisely wrapped in colored
 paper. He hesitated, looking reserved and somewhat
 awkward, just inside the door.
  "What's this?" Kirk gestured with feigned surprise at
 packages.
 th'e'A gift, sir." Spock handed him the larger box.
 "Perhaps it is not the custom; but it seemed...
 somehow appropriate to mark the end of our years of
 service together."
 Kirk smiled faintly, touched, and sat on his bunk to
 open it. He removed the paper carefully; inside the box,
 swathed in tissue, was a gleaming brass-and-polished-
 wood sextant--a centuries-old tool sailors once used to
 navigate by the stars.
 "To help me find my way?" Kirk asked lightly, running
 his fingers over it in admiration. "Spock--thank you.
  It's beautiful ...."               ,,    ,,
      As he spoke, the door chimed once more. Come,
  Jim said, and McCoy entered.
      There was a wide grin on the doctor's face and two
  dust-covered flagons in his arms; but to Jim, the smile
  seemed forced. Purple shadows had gathered beneath

 McCoy's ice blue eyes; he looked as haggard as Kirk felt
 after the hardships endured on Rura Penthe.
 My God, Jim thought. He ~ old... and so am I.
 "Well," McCoy said cheerfully, holding up the flasks.
 "I see the Vulcan beat me to it. I, too, came bearing
 gifts."
     "Two bottles? I hope they're both for me." Kirk
 squinted at them, wishing he had his spectacles.
     "Not in the least." The doctor lifted one and blew on
 the label; Kirk raised his hands to protect himself from
 the approaching cloud of dust. "This one's oldest, so it's
 yours."
     Kirk took the bottle and smiled at the date on the
 label.
     "For auld lang syne," said McCoy, with the slightest
 quaver in his voice; or was it Jim's imagination? "And
 this one--"
     He blew on the second bottle's label and handed it to
 Spock.
    "Why, Dr. McCoy," the Vulcan said with mild sur-
prise. "This is alcohol."
    "Good old-fashioned Saurian brandy, to be precise,"
the doctor said with gusto. "Drink it and remember
me--and the importance of loosening up once in a
while."
    "I shall," Spock replied. "If you will attempt to recall
the importance of logic when you gaze upon this." He
proffered McCoy the smaller package.
    McCoy unwrapped it and lifted out a palm-sized circle
of burnished metal, on which was etched an intricate
maze of geometric design. He frowned at it. "It's lovely,
Spock .... But... what is it?"
 "A Vulcan mandala. One contemplates it to quiet the

10

mind and emotions, in preparation for the reception of
logic."
    "Oh. Thank you." McCoy slipped it into his jacket
pocket. "I'll be sure to look at it every time I need a little
logic. Now that you won't be around to provide it for
me...
    "Gentlemen." Kirk rose and went over to the dresser.
"I'm no good at wrapping things, but... these are for
you." He handed the small paper book to Spock.
    Spock looked down at the book and allowed the
merest ghost of a smile to pass over his features.
 "Horatio Hornblower. Thank you, Captain."  "To remember me by," Jim said.
    McCoy lifted a brow. "Don't you think Don Juan
would have been a little more appropriate?"
     "Watch your tongue, Doctor, or I'll keep your pres-
 ent," Kirk retorted, gesturing toward the mantel clock.
 "I was tempted to keep it anyway." He opened the
 crystal face and set the minute hand back to the hour;
 the clock began again to chime, a rich, melodic sound
 that echoed faintly off the bulkheads.
     Lips parted with delight, McCoy listened, clearly
 enchanted.
 "To remember the good times." Kirk smiled.
 "Jim... it's beautiful. I think that's the finest present
 anyone's ever given me--with the exception of my
 grandkids, of course." The doctor's expression grew
 suddenly somber as he gazed up at his friends. "I can't
 imagine what life will be like without you two. It isn't
 really ending, is it? After all these years, it can't be
 over .... "                 Doctor." Jim's tone grew~
  "Don't get maudlin on me,
 firm. They had a long night ahead of them--one in
                 11

 which he'd be asked a hundred times what he was going
 to do with himself now that he didn't have the Enter-
 prise; and a hundred times, he would have to reply
 graciously. He didn't need to start out the evening
 depressed. "And stop talking like we'll never see each
 other again."
  "Well--when will we see each other?"
     "How about tomorrow? I was thinking of heading to
 Yosemite, and thought you two might enjoy going there
 with me again--"
     "Can't do it," McCoy said glumly. "I'm going to stay
 with Joanna and her family, and we're talking about
 heading off to do some research out in the B'renga
 sector. And Spock's headed home--"
     "Home?" Jim glanced swiftly at his first officer for
 verification.
    Spock gave a single nod. "I am... discussing the
possibility of doing some diplomatic work with Ambas-
sador Sarek. I shall be returning to Vulcan tomorrow. I
am afraid I cannot accompany you to Yosemite."
    "I see," Jim said softly. And for the first time, he
realized that he was not simply parting for a few months'
shore leave, but saying good-bye to his two best friends.
    A sudden indescribable loneliness overtook him, mel-
ancholy coupled with premonition. He flashed on an
image of himself, years before, seated in front of a
crackling campfire in Yosemite Park, grinning up at his
two friends' faces, orange with reflected firelight.
    That's right; he had scaled El Capitan, the most
rugged peak in the park, and had fallen. And Spock had
      him. And Bones, outraged as usual by his cap-
tain's risk-taking, had asked him whether he had been
trying to kill himself.

    It was funny, Kirk had answered then, but even as I
was falling, I knew I wouldn't die... because the two of
you were with me. I've always known I'll die alone.
    Spock would no longer be there to catch him, nor
McCoy to sputter in outrage. The thought that he was
losing all that was dearest to him--Carol, Spock, Bones,
the Enterprise--finally struck home. He was alone now,
unfettered, moorless.
    A shudder passed through him. Someone walking on
my grave...
    But the thought seemed too self-pitying. He dismissed
it resolutely, forced himself to smile. "Well... we will
be getting together again at some point." He rose.
"Gentlemen. Thank you for the gifts. I think it's time we
were off to the festivities."
    "The last firewatch." McCoy drew a breath that
caught in his throat as he studied his two friends. "Are
we really ready for this?"
  "Not at all," Jim answered honestly. "Let's go."

12                                                                      13

TWO

One year later, Pavel Chekov, Commander, Starfleet,
stood in the midst of a vast and undulating ocean of
wheat and gazed up at the cloudless sky. He had been
standing patient watch for some time--long enough to
be heated and dazzled by the bright sun; long enough,
certainly, to grow reflective about the object of his
search.
    The parallel seas of blue and gold, one above, one
below, seemed infinite, and evoked the same dizzying
sensation of freedom, of disconnectedness, he had felt
over the past year since leaving the Enterprise and the
service. Transitions were never easy, but as a Starfleet
officer, Chekov had learned to take them in stride; only
this one had proved the most challenging of all. A year or
two before, he had thought to avoid that sensation by
re-forming old connections. He had contacted Irina
Galliulin, his love from his Academy days, the one
woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life within
only to learn that she was soon to marry.
    And so he had acquired a small dacha outside Moscow
and spent his off-time there alone, except for those

opportunities to gather with old friends. When the
invitation came from Starfleet to attend the christening
of the Enterprise-B, he jumped at the chance.
    He stood beside Montgomery Scott now, who also
frowned up at the sky. He enjoyed ScoWs companyrain
part, because Scott was clearly enjoying himself, enjoy-
ing retirement. He had settled in his native Scotland
with his sister's family, playing the role of doting uncle
with gusto, producing a rapid spate of engineering
articles for technical journals. And, he had relayed to
Chekov with obvious pride, Starfleet had hired him as a
part-time consultant in the design of new vessels. Yet his
family ties and his labor of love for Starfleet still left him
with enough freedom to reunite with old friends. He was
looking as healthy as Chekov had ever seen him; his face
was well tanned, with a faint ruddy glow that spoke of
contentment rather than Scotch, and though his form
was still stout, he seemed to Chekov slightly leaner as of
late.
    Chekov envied him. Perhaps, with time, he, Chekov,
would find his own niche, as Scott had. But for the time
he identified more with the captain~with Jim, he
corrected himself silently. It was difficult, almost impos-
sible, for him to dispense with the notion of rank after all
these years; as strange as hearing Scott address him as
Payel. Kirk clearly was consumed with the same restless-
ness, the same dissatisfaction Chekov experienced daily;
he had seen it in the captain's--Jim's--eyes.
    Chekov's reverie ceased abruptly as he spotted a tiny
black speck in the midst of all that blue. He raised an
arm and pointed to it as he turned excitedly to Scott.
"There he is--there, to the south!"
  Scott lifted a hand to his weathered forehead, displac-

14                                                                  15

 ing a silver fringe of hair as he shielded his eyes from the
 glare. After a moment's scrutiny, he clicked his tongue.
 "What are ye, blind? That's a bird."
     Chekov squinted, ready to protest until he made out
 the wings. He sagged slightly as anticipation left him.
     "Rappelling the Crystalline Trench," Scott said sud-
 denly, in the same indignant tone. "Rafting down lava
 flows... orbital skydiving... It's like the man is run-
 ning a bloody decathlon across the galaxy."
    Chekov frowned at the note of disapproval in Scott's
voice. Certainly there was nothing wrong with orbital
skydiving; in fact, Chekov had hoped to try it himself--
after he saw how Jim Kirk fared with it. He opened his
mouth to say something in the captain's defense. Per-
haps Scott, with his comfortable family life, did not
understand what it was to feel restless, unanchored,
eager for excitement.
    But Chekov never got the chance to explain things to
Scott; a sonic boom, followed almost instantly by anoth-
er, distracted him. "That should be him now," he said.
"I think he's just crossed the sound barrier."
    The two shaded their eyes from the sun and stared up
at the sky. For a few seconds, Chekov thought he might
have been mistaken again; but then, slightly to the west
of where he anticipated, a dark speck appeared in the
midst of the cerulean blue. It loomed suddenly larger,
and larger, and this time, it most definitely was not a
bird, but the form of a man hanging from a parachute.
    He sailed down rapidly and landed unceremoniously
flat on his back several meters away in the wheat.
Chekov and Scott hurried over to him.
 Kirk sat up and pulled off his helmet, revealing the

broad grin of a delighted child. "Right on target! I jump
out over the Arabian Peninsula... and I end up here,
right on the dime." He got to his feet, brushing away his
two friends' attempts at assistance, cheerfully oblivious
to the wisps of smoke still emanating from his charred,
scorched suit.
    "Actually, Captain," Chekov offered, "your precise
target area was thirty-five meters"--he gestured to the
west--"that way."
    Kirk's lip quirked wryly, in the same manner Chekov
had seen so many times on the bridge, when Spock had
offered concise but unwanted details; perhaps, Chekov
thought, he had offered the information precisely be-
cause Spock could not be there with them. "Thanks for
pointing that out," the captain said. He began pulling off
his suit, but drew up and winced suddenly in obvious
pain.
    Scott was shaking his head with fresh disapproval.
"I've warned ye about that back of yours. You should
have a doctor take a look at it."
    Kirk made a sound of skepticism and started to
remove his harness. "Tomorrow," he told Chekov excit-
edly, knowing that the younger man shared his enthusi-
asm for daredevil feats to a much greater extent than did
his former engineer, "I want to make a tri-elliptical
jump. That's where you jump out over northern China,
and make three complete orbits before you start
reentry .... "
    Chekov was sincerely interested in hearing about
tri-elliptical jumps--and perhaps even trying one
himself--but Kirk had apparently suffered a memory
lapse. The very notion that the captain might have

16                                                                 17

 become forgetful embarrassed Chekov; gently, he said,
 "Captain. Perhaps you have forgotten that tomorrow is
 the christening ceremony .... "
    Kirk clearly had not. A flash of irritation crossed his
features, then faded to stubborn resolve as he said curtly,
"I'm not going." He paused, then fumbled at the straps
on his body harness. "Scotty, help me with this chute."
    Scott stepped forward and reached for the straps, his
expression again stern and reproachful. "What do ye
mean, you're not going? We promised."
    "When I retired, I swore I'd never set foot on a
starship again, and I meant it."
    "Captain..." Chekov chided mildly, meaning: We
know you don't really mean it, sir. He was not quite sure
what prompted Kirk's sudden outburst of mulishness,
except possibly the recent disappointing news that
Spock and McCoy would not be joining them for the
christening ceremony. Nor would Uhura, who was vaca-
tioning in a far-off region of the galaxy before returning
to teach at the Academy, or Sulu, who was off command-
ing the Excelsior.
    "I don't want to hear any more about it," Kirk told
them both. "I'm not going and that's final."
    Yes, sir, Chekov almost said, but he and Scott shared a
knowing glance; he had heard the uncertainty in the
captain's tone, and would not be at all surprised if Kirk
had another change of heart before morning.

    In the instant before the turbolift doors slid open, Jim
Kirk drew a deep breath and steeled himself. A year
before, in his final moments as captain on the bridge of
his ship, he had sworn that he would never set foot on

another starship again... for the simple, painful reason
that he would never again be in the command chair. Yet
despite his protestations to Scott and Chekov the day
before, he had yielded to duty, responsibility--and no
small amount of curiosity--and accompanied his
friends to the christening of the Enterprise-B.
    But from the moment he arrived on spacedock, he was
unable to shake the feeling that it had been a mistake to
come, that something indescribable was wrong. Perhaps
it was just the weight of the past and his current pointless
existence settling over him, or perhaps the simple disap-
pointment that the friends who should have stood beside
him now--Spock and Bones--could not be here. Spock
was involved with a diplomatic mission on behalf of
Vulcan and could not free himself, though he had sent a
terse, elegant message honoring the former crew of the
Enterprise-A and congratulating the new crew of the
Enterprise-B. As for McCoy, he and his family were
attending his granddaughter's graduation from the Vul-
can Science Academy; he, too, had sent a polite message
of congratulations to Starfleet--and a private message
to Jim, saying: Miss you, old friend. I'll be with you in
spirit ....
    Jim's unease had begun with a restless night of trou-
bling dreams; and in the fleeting second as he stared at
the seam in the lift doors, he was haunted by dimly
colored images from the night before, from dreams that
had been strands of memory braided with imagination:
    Yosemite. E1 Capitan. Climbing, gripping cool rock
with his fingers, his hands, breathing in sweet Terran air,
gazing out at hawks flying past. Spock appearing out of
the literal blue, distracting him, and then:

18                                                                 19

,z

     The fall, just as it had happened those years ago, so
 swiftly that it shoved the air from his lungs, made him
 dizzy as he flailed, clawing vainly at smooth rock...
     Abruptly, the superimposed flash of himself seated at
 the campfire beside Spock and Bones, explaining why he
 had not been afraid.
     ú.. even as I was falling, I knew I wouldn't die, because
 the two of you were with me...
    Captain, Spock said, as the setting shifted again, and
they were on the Enterprise-A in Jim's quarters, on his
last night as captain. I shall be returning to Vulcan.
    And then he was falling again--falling into infinity,
past El Capitan, over the Arabian Peninsula with the air
roaring in his ears, waiting for Spock to catch him.
    But Spock was gone--on Vulcanmand Bones was
nowhere to be found, either. Jim was alonemfor the first
time really alone, terrified and in free fall. Even so, he
heard the doctor's voice whisper in his ear:  Miss you, old friend. . . .
    And then, the question Bones had asked Spock so long
ago, on the Klingon Bird-of-Prey soon after the Vulcan
had returned to the living: What did it feel like, being
dead?
    Ridiculous, to be so unsettled by dreams. Kirk gave
his head a slight shake and detached himself from the
memory. Self-pity was useless; it might seem wrong that
Spock and McCoy were not here beside hirambut he
was grateful for Scotty and Chekov, the two friends who
flanked him now. He glanced at them and saw that
Chekov's apprehension matched his own, while Scott's
expression was one of wistfulness, mixed with an over-
whelming curiosity about the turbolift's new designú

20

    Yet despite his resolve to forget last night's dreams, he
felt his unease grow. The only thing that felt comfortable
about the whole affair was the chance to wear his
uniform again.
    The lift doors opened onto blinding light and ap-
plause. Dazzled, Kirk blinked until his vision cleared to
reveal a holocam with spotlight, a bevy of journalists
with padds, and the applauding bridge crew. He forced a
gracious smile, and felt Scott and Chekov tense self-
consciously beside him.
    "Captain Kirk," one of the reporters called, "how
does it feel to be back on the Enterprise bridge?"
    The question was the only one he could make out
clearly amid the sudden barrage: Captain, couM I have a
min--
  Captain Scott, do you have any comment on the--
    Commander Chekov, after seeing the new Enterprise,
do you regretw
    Blessedly, a uniformed figure pushed forward through
the crowd and stepped in front of the light. Kirk knew
even without looking at the insignia who it would be;
authority conferred a certain confident grace, a deter-
mined manner of walking that marked a captain on his
own bridge.
    And a tension that permeated the air around him.
Like a coiled spring, Jim thought. Was I ever that intense?
     "Excuse me," the man told the reporters as he strode
 past them. "Excuse me, there will be plenty of time for
 questions later."
     The journalists at once fell silent, and receded like a
 tidemall except the cameraman, who angled himself for
 a better picture, throwing the light directly into Kirk's

21

 eyes. Kirk tried not to squint, not to let his annoyance
 show in his frozen smile, directed now at the lean young
 officer who stood before him.
     "I'm Captain John Hardman." The current com-
 mander of the Enterprise directed a polite nod at each of
 the retired officers. "I'd like to welcome you all aboard."
    "It's our pleasure." Despite his discomfort, Kirk's
smile warmed genuinely. Harriman seemed to him
painfully young, painfully eager, painfully earnest about
his first command--no doubt exactly the way a certain
James T. Kirk had been when he had first taken com-
mand of a ship called Enterprise. And while Harriman
was doing a fair job of hiding his nervousness, he did not
quite succeed in masking his awe of the men who stood
before him.
    "I just want you to know how excited we all are to
have a group of living legends with us on our maiden
voyage," Harriman said. "I remember reading about
your missions when I was in grade school."
    Scott and Chekov stiflened; Harriman's expression
grew embarrassed as he realized his gaffe. His panic was
so sincere that Kirk's lips quirked in amusement.
"Well," he said easily, "may we have a look around?"
"Please." Harriman gestured at the gleaming bridge,
plainly relieved at the rescue. "Please..."
    "Demora!" Chekov's face brightened with sudden
pleasure as he caught a familiar face among the sea of
uniforms in the background. He headed off as the other
three ceremoniously made their way toward the conn.
    "This is the new command chair," Harriman ex-
plained unnecessarily to his two politely attentive guests.
He laid a proud hand on the armrest. "If you take a look

22

at the comm panel, you'll see a number of small but
significant improvements over the Enterprise-A .... "
    He droned on for a moment; Scott seemed raptly
attentive, but Kirk did not hear. Hardman and Scott
quickly moved on to the helm, but Kirk lingered a
moment to rest his hand enviously upon the back vf the
new captain's chair.
    It seemed wrong that another man should sit here;
wrong that Bones and Spock should not be here, stand-
ing in their customary places beside him. He felt an
abrupt, odd sense of discomfort, and flashed again on
the memory of his last night as captain of the Enterprise,
and the sudden chill he had felt when Spock and McCoy
confessed they were going their separate ways.
    ... even as I was falling, I knew I wouldn't
die... because the two of you were with me...
    Stop, he told himself firmly. He was being maudlin,
self-pitying again--yet he could not quite shake the
eerie sense of premonition prompted by dreams.
  "So, Captain..." someone said.
He jerked his head up to see a reporter with a padd.
In the same breezy tone, she continued, "This is the
first Starship Enterprise in thirty years without James T.
Kirk in command. How do you feel about that?"
    How the hell do you expect me to feel? he wanted to
say, angered by her casualness. This ship was my life--
was everything. And now...
    Instead, he drew a breath and summoned back the
frozen smile. "Just fine. I'm glad to be here to send her
on her way."
    He tried to step past her, to join Hardman and Scott,
but she angled into his path, blocking escape.

23

?
~
1

 "And what have you been doing since you retired?"
 "I've been... keeping busy." Trapped, he paused and
 tried to catch Harriman's eye, but the young captain and
 Scott were enthusiastically discussing the redesigned
 helm.
      "Excuse me, Captain," Chekov called, with sufficient
command authority that the journalist backed off.
  Kirk shot him a look of gratitude.
    Chekov gave a knowing smile, then gestured with
obvious pride at the officer beside him--a young Terran
woman whose oddly familiar golden face and dark eyes
were framed by a shoulder-length sweep of ebony hair.
"I'd like you to meet the helmsman of the Enterprise-B."
    Don't I know you? Kirk was on the verge of asking, but
Chekov continued:
"Ensign Demora Sulu--Captain James Kirk."
Kirk's lips parted in astonishment; for a moment, he
just stared as the ensign offered her hand and said, with
unmistakably Sulu-ish confidence and good humor, "It's
a pleasure to meet you, sir. My father's told me
some..." Her eyes took on a faint glimmer of merri-
ment. "... interesting stories about you."
    Jim found his voice at last. "Your father... Hikaru
Sulu is your father?" He had known that Sulu had a
child--a little girl, certainly not a daughter old enough
to enter the Academy, much less handle the helm of a
starship. Chekov had served as honorary uncle and
godparent, which would certainly explain his doting
demeanor now, but...
 Demora straightened proudly. "Yes, sir."
    Chekov leaned forward and prompted, sotto voce,
"You met her once before, but she was..." Hand held

24

palm down and waist high, he indicated her former
height.
    Kirk shook his head in disbelief. It made sense, of
course: the round cheeks beneath shining dark eyes, the
gracious good nature. He could never have mistaken her
for anyone else's daughter. "Yes, yes, I remember. Even
then you were talking about being a helmsman, like your
father. But that wasn't so long ago. It couldn't have been
more than--"
  "Twelve years, sir," Chekov said.
    "Yes... well..." Kirk hesitated. To her credit,
Demora showed not a hint of amusement or annoyance,
but waited, respectful and poised, while the captain did
some quick mental calculations, then sighed in acquies-
cence. "Congratulations, Ensign," he said at last, and
smiled genuinely. "It wouldn't be the Enterprise without
a Sulu at the helm."
    "Thank you, sir," Demora replied, with voice and
gaze that revealed she had inherited her father's forth-
right sincerity and warmth. "If you'll excuse me..."
She turned to Chekov. "Let me show you the new
inertial system .... "
    Kirk imagined he could hear the words she barely
managed not to say: Uncle Pavel....
    The two wandered off. Kirk watched them go, and a
sudden overwhelming sadness overtook him as he
thought of his own child, David, of Carol, of lost
chances. Rather than easing with time, his sense of loss
over David's death had deepened, as if his own ap-
proaching end made him see more clearly the opportuni-
ties missed in life. If he had known from the beginning
that he had a son, his life might now be very different.

25

iI

 Perhaps--just perhaps--he could have done things
 differently, and David would still be alive ....
    Perhaps he would be with the two of them now,
instead of trying to outrun his loneliness while Carol
buried her grief with work. He had seen her only twice in
the past year, and each time she had been consumed by
the details of rebuilding the station on Themis. He was
beginning to think that her sorrow, too, had increased;
that maybe the sight of him reminded Carol too much of
her late son--much the way that the sight of Demora at
the helm reminded him strongly of Sulu now.
    He glanced up as Scotty approached, beaming
broadly.
    "Damn fine ship if you ask me," Scott said with gusto.
"What I wouldn't give for a tour of engineering .... "
    Kirk made a noncommittal sound, then gazed back at
Demora, who was taking her position at the helm. "You
know, Scotty, it amazes me."
    Scott's good cheer remained undampened. "And what
would that be, sir?"
"Sulu. When did he find the time for a family?"
Scotty followed Kirk's gaze to Demora and released a
silent ah. "Sulu's given the world another fine officer,
hasn't he?"
  "She seems like a fine young woman."
    "That she is." Scott faced him again. "It's like you
always said. If something's important enough, you make
the time."
    Kirk gave an absent nod. For a moment, neither
spoke--until Scott said, in a voice low but keen with
revelation, "So... thatg why you've been running
around the galaxy like an eighteen-year-old. Finding
retirement a little lonely, are we?"

26

Kirk glanced at him sharply. "With that kind of tact,
I'm glad you're an engineer and not a psychiatrist."
    Still all eagerness and intensity, Harriman ap-
proached and interrupted with an exaggerated formality
that spoke of the camera focused on them. "Excuse me,
gentlemen. If you'll take your seats..."
    "Oh... of course." Kirk straightened and reactivated
the public-relations smile; so did Scott, and the two of
them settled into two of the three seats set on the bridge
for the occasion.
    As Harriman took the conn and the crew members
their stations, Chekov joined them and sank into the
third one, casting a final proud-uncle glance at Demora
and whispering to Kirk, "I was never that young."
Kirk cast him a fond glance. "No. You were younger."
"Prepare to leave spacedock," Harriman ordered,
with something less than ease. Kirk felt a stirring of
sympathy for the young captain. It had been difficult
enough to take command of the first Enterprise all
those years ago--and young Jim Kirk hadn't had to
face three "living legends" and a horde of journalists
at the time.
    "Aft thrusters ahead one quarter, port and starboard
at station keeping," Harriman continued, then swiveled
in his chair to face his guests of honor. "Captain Kirk,
I'd be honored if you would give the order to get under
way."
    "No," Kirk replied instantly. He did not intend to be
rude; Harriman was simply trying to be polite, to show
respect, but to Kirk the offer seemed patronizing. He
had no desire to serve as figurehead, to give a symbolic
order which, to his mind, only served to underscore the
fact that the Enterprise was no longer his. He did not

27

 care to pretend that it was, even for a moment. "No.
 Thank you."
     Harriman seemed to take his refusal as modesty.
 "Please. I insist."
     The bridge fell silent; Kirk became uncomfortably
 aware that the gaze of every person--including the bank
 of journalists on the other side of the bridge--was fixed
 upon him. He glanced helplessly at Scotty, Chekov, the
 smiling, expectant Harriman, and rose to his feet. The
 anticipation seemed deafening, his pronouncement anti-
 climactic.
  "Take us out," he said flatly.
    The crew again broke into wild applause. Kirk sat,
trying not to squint at the glaring lights, hoping the
camera could not record his embarrassment and annoy-
ance.
  "Very good, sir," Chekov whispered wryly.
  "Brought a tear to my eye," Scott deadpanned.
    On impulse power, the ship sailed smoothly out of
spacedock and into the solar system. Kirk might have
actually relaxed and enjoyed the ride, but he, Scotty, and
Chekov were trapped in their seats by the camera and
journalists like doomed prisoners in front of a firing
squad. He smiled into the dazzling light until his jaw
ached, until his head hurt, giving ridiculous answers to
ridiculous questions such as: Here you are, back on the
bridge of the Starship Enterprise .... How does it feel?
    The three of them had paused reluctantly at that; he
had cast a look at Chekov, then Scott, realizing that none
wanted to answer and each was hoping the others would.
    Jim had silently sighed, then summoned the PR smile
and said, Just fine... . at the exact moment Chekov and
Scott had each surrendered and chorused, Fine.

28

    And so it went, until Harriman rescued them by
saying, "Well, ladies and gentlemen, we've just cleared
the asteroid belt. Our course will take us out beyond
Pluto and then back to spacedock ....Just a quick run
around the block."
    The journalists turned all in a row, as if suddenly
realizing that here was a fresh victim. One of them
immediately asked, "Captain, will there be time to
conduct a test of the warpm"
    He broke off at the shrill beep emanating from the
communications console. The comm officer called, in a
voice that reflected the surprise felt by all, "We're
picking up a distress call, Captain."
    Harriman's eyes went wide for an instant, but he
recovered himself enough to order, "On speakers."
    Kirk winced at the loud burst of static that followed. A
male voice, desperate, distorted, barely comprehensible,
filtered through the speakers:
    "This is the transport ship Lakul. We're caught in
some kind of energy distortion. We can't break free..."
Here the words became garbled, but Kirk was able to
make out: "... need immediate help... it's tearing
US . . ."
    Another painful burst of static filled the air; the comm
officer played a rapid fugue on his panel, then shook his
head at Hardman. Simultaneously, the science officer
checked her console and reported, "The Lakul is one of
two ships transporting El Aurian refugees to Earth."
    Harriman blinked once, twice, at this information,
then cleared his throat. Seconds were passing--critical
seconds, which could save or doom lives, Kirk knew, and
he held his breath as he prayed the young captain would
overcome his surprise in time to act. Somehow, he

29

 managed not to move, not even to clench his fists as he
 waited for Harriman to speak.
     Harriman turned toward the helm. "Can you locate
 them?"
     Almost before the question was out of Harriman's
 mouth, Demora responded calmly, "The ships are bear-
 ing at three one zero mark two one five. Distance: three
 light-years."
    "Signal the nearest starship," Harriman ordered.
"We're in no condition to mount a rescue. We don't even
have a full crew aboard."
    The navigator checked his console and half turned
toward his captain. "We're the only one in range, sir."
    Harriman let go a small, perplexed sigh just as the
camera light was turned on him. Another second passed,
leaving Kirk fidgeting on the edge of his seat, drumming
his fip. gers on his thighs, ready to rise and commandeer
the vessel if the younger captain did not take swift
action. At last, Harriman drew in a breath and
straightened his tunic.
    "Well, then... I guess it's up to us." He swiveled
toward Demora. "Helm, lay in an intercept course and
engage at maximum warp."
    Kirk released a silent sigh, then tensed, startled as
Scott leaned in toward him and said softly, with a glint
of amusement in his eye, "Something wrong with your
chair, Captain?"
    Kirk shot him a sour look as the Enterprise leapt into
warp.
    Within a minute, Demora glanced up from her con-
sole. "We're within visual range of the energy distortion,
Captain."
 "On screen," Harriman said.

30

    All eyes focused on the main viewscreen, which re-
vealed a bizarre sight: stars and space dissected by a
writhing, crackling lash of pure energy, hot white shot
with streaks of violet, blue, gold. To Kirk, it seemed
alive, angry.
 "What the hell is that?" Chekov whispered.
    "I've found the transport ships," Demora reported.
The view shifted slightly to reveal two buffeted transport
vessels, trapped like struggling insects in a violent,
pulsing spiderweb. "Their hulls are starting to buckle
under the stress. They won't survive much longer."
    She hung on to her console as the Enterprise-B sud-
denly lurched, throwing Kirk against Chekov.
    "We're encountering severe gravimetric distortions
from the energy ribbon," the navigator said.
    Clutching the arms of his chair, Harriman ordered,
"We'll have to keep our distance. We don't want to get
pulled in, too." He frowned at the screen, clearly pon-
dering his next move.
    To Kirk, the solution seemed obvious; he gave Harri-
man another two seconds, then blurted out, "Tractor
beam..."
    Scott immediately directed a well-aimed elbow at his
former captain's rib. Kirk fell silent at once; he knew
that this was Harriman's ship, not his. Yet the situation
was quickly growing desperate ....
    Harriman glanced over his shoulder with a glum
expression that was free from annoyance. Either he was
too gracious to register the insult, or was genuinely
grateful for any help. "We don't have a tractor beam."
    Kirk made no effort to hide his indignant reaction.
"You left spacedock without a tractor beam?"
  "It won't be installed until Tuesday," Harriman re-

31

plied matter-of-factly. He turned back toward the helm.
"Ensign Sulu--try generating a subspace field around
the ships. That might break them free."
  "Aye, sir." Demora bent over her console.
    No, Kirk wanted to say, but before he had a chance for
another outburst, Demora shook her head and glanced
up. "There's too much quantum interference, Captain."
    Once again, Harriman squinted at the lashing streaks
of energy on the viewscreen and frowned. Kirk had
nothing but sympathy for the young captain, whose first
day in command was turning into something of a
nightmare on a ship that was undermanned and ill
prepared. But if Harriman failed to come up with
another plan, sympathy or not--
    "What about venting plasma from the warp nacelles?"
Harriman asked no one in particular. "That might
disrupt the ribbon's hold on the ships."
    "Aye, sir," the navigator replied. "Releasing drive
plasma..."
    Harriman visibly held his breath for a moment, then
glanced back at Kirk, who gave him a pained, encourag-
ing smile.
    "It's not having any effect, sir," the navigator said. "I
think--"
    "Sir!" Demora cried. "The starboard vessel's hull is
collapsing!"
    On the screen, one of the ships, now engulfed by one
of the fiery tendrils, exploded into a brilliant starburst.
All on the Enterprise bridge fell silent as the starburst
dimmed and dissolved into hurtling shards of debris.
    "How many people were on that ship?" Chekov asked,
aghast; it was not his place to speak out, to put such a

pointed question, which should have belonged to the
ship's captain. But in the horror of the moment, no one
seemed to care or notice--certainly not Harriman, who
stared, eyes wide and lips parted, at the screen.
  "Two hundred sixty-five," Demora said softly.
    Two pairs of shoulders sagged ever so faintly under the
weight of that answer--one pair belonging to Harriman,
the other to Kirk.
    The devil with politeness, Kirk told himself. Two
hundred sixty-five... I know the hell he g going through,
but I can't sit by and watch it happen again. If he doesn't
ask, by God, I'll tell him ....
    Demora spoke again, her tone more urgent. "The
Lakul's hull integrity is down to twelve percent, sir."
    Harriman swiveled slowly and met Kirk's anxious
gaze. Uncertainty flickered over the younger captain's
face. Kirk understood; Harriman did not wish to seem
incapable in front of his crew--and the now very silent
reporters. But here was experienced help, and there were
another two hundred-odd lives at stake ....
    "Captain Kirk," Harriman said, with admirable dig-
nity and humility, "I would appreciate any suggestions
you might have."
    The words triggered an amazing reaction within Kirk.
It was the same sensation he had had in the dream the
night before: free fall, the way he had felt in Yosemite,
falling from E1 Capitan, the way he had felt orbital
skydiving only the day before. Yet this time he experi-
enced the intense exhilaration he had sought in those
adventures, and never found--because this time, he was
making a difference.
  He shot out of his chair like a cork from a champagne

32                                                                  33

bottle, and was beside Harriman in less than a second,
with a look that he hoped conveyed his gratitude and
respect.
    "First," he said, in a voice so low only the younger
captain could hear, "move us within transporter range
and beam those people to the Enterprise."
    Harriman gazed up at him with unmasked surprise.
"But what about the gravimetric distortions? They'll
tear us apart."
    Kirk put a hand on his shoulder and said, very softly
and without reproach, "Risk is part of the game if you
want to sit in that chair."
    Harriman waveredmonly for an instant--then
squared his shoulders and turned grimly toward the
image on the screen. "Helm," he ordered, "close to
within transporter range."
    Kirk squinted at the sudden glare, and glanced up to
see the cameraman moving in on the command chair for
a close-up. "And second," he snapped, making sure his
voice carried over the entire bridge, "turn that damned
thing off."
    The cameraman hesitatedmonly for an instant; the
scowls on the two captains' faces apparently convinced
him. He turned the camera off and joined the other
silent reporters.
    The Enterprise eased forward; on the viewscreen, the
streak of deadly energy loomed closer, closer... until,
unexpectedly, it lashed out at the Enterprise, barely
missing it. Kirk let out a mental sigh and directed silent
thanks to Sulu for passing on his skill at the helm.
  "We're within range, sir," Demora said.
    Harriman kept his pale eyes focused on the screen.
"Beam them directly to sickbay."

    Directly? Kirk almost said--intraship beaming was
risky business, at best--but before he could utter a
sound, Harriman glanced up at him, apparently reading
his thoughts; had the situation not been so critical, he
might have smiled.
    "It's all right, Captain. As I said, the new ship's got
some amazing new capabilities."
    Brow furrowed with concern, Chekov stepped forward
and bent beside Harriman's chair. "Sir. How big is your
medical staff?."
    Harriman's momentary flicker of pride turned to
embarrassment. "The medical staff doesn't arrive until
Tuesday."
    Chekov wasted no time in questioning it; he rose and
pointed at two reporters watching nearby. "You and
you. You've just become nurses. Let's go."
    The three hurried to the turbolift as Demora said,
"Main Engineering reports fluctuations in the warp
plasma relays."
    Scott was on his feet before she finished speaking.
"Bypass the relays and go to auxiliary systems," he said,
moving quickly toward the helm. Kirk gave him a swift,
bemused glance that said, Weren't you jabbing me in the
ribs not two minutes ago... ?
  Scott wasted no time acknowledging it.
    "Sir." A skinny young lieutenant fresh from the
Academy turned from the aft console with an air of
panic. "I'm having trouble locking on to them." He
gazed back at his board and shook his head with an
expression of pure puzzlement. "They appear to be in
some sort of... temporal flux."
    "Scotty?" Kirk called, but before he could turn to face
his former engineer, Scott had left the helm and was

34                                                                   35

standing beside the young lieutenant, frowning down at
the console.
He let go a hiss of amazement. "What the hell--?"
Kirk strode over to stand beside him; Scott angled
his face toward his former captain without taking his
gaze off the perplexing readout. "Their life signs
are... phasing in and out of our space-time contin-
~~~."
    "Phasing?" Kirk asked. "To where?" He stared down
at the board, but the data made no more sense than
Scott's words.
    Scott did not answer, but moved in to work the
controls as the lieutenant gratefully moved aside.
    "Sir!" the navigator cried, in a tone as electrifying as
the sight on the screen. "Their hull's collapsing!"
    For the second time, the energy tendril engulfed the
doomed ship, like a great dazzling python squeezing its
prey. As Kirk watched, the Lakul erupted into a fiery
hail of spinning debris. He turned at once to Scott,
whose eyes held the haggard, defeated look Kirk had
come to dread so long ago.
    "I got forty-seven of them," Scott said softly, though
in the sudden silence his words seemed to fill the entire
bridge. His gaze dropped. "Out of one hundred fifty."
    No time to react with sorrow; the floor beneath Kirk's
feet heaved, hurling him against Harriman's chair.
Somehow he managed to hold on, somehow reacted
instinctively to the sound of shrieking metal by shielding
his face with his forearm against the sudden rain of
sparks and bulkhead fragments.
    And then it was over just as quickly, and the ship
righted itself with an abrupt hitch that almost made him
lose his balance again. He lowered his arm and took in

his surroundings; a scorched bulkhead, but no hull
breach, as he'd feared. No serious injuries--except the
navigator, who lay sprawled across the console with
terrible limpness, his eyes open, his head bloodied, his
neck at such an impossible angle that Kirk did not need
to check to know that he was dead.
    Beside him, dull grief in her eyes, Demora sat stiffly,
holding on to her console with white-lipped intensity.
    "Report!" Kirk shouted over the klaxon's howl, as
Scott gently moved the dead man aside and took his
place.
    Demora drew in a visible, gathering breath. "We're
caught in a gravimetric field emanating from the trailing
edge of the ribbon."
    This time, Harriman needed no prompting, no advice.
"All engines, full reverse!"

36                                                                   37

9

THREE

Seconds earlier, aboard the Lakul, Tolian Soran sat
cross-legged on the deck of the crowded passenger cabin
and stared blankly up at the viewscreen, where the
blazing ribbon thrashed through the night of space.
    Unlike the others beside him, some silent with shock,
others murmuring, weeping at the news that their sister
ship had been destroyed, Soran did not fear the ribbon.
Indeed, he welcomed it.
    Since the first day he had been rescued by the Lakul,
he had been gathering the strength to end his own life.
He had been trying to do just that--steering the lifepod
into the Borg's death beams when he realized that
Sadorah City, his home, Leandra's home, was destroyed.
His wife and children were dead, killed as he had
watched, in safety and horror, from an off-planet obser-
vatory.
    By pure chance, the fleeing Lakul had detected him,
and beamed him aboard--quite against his will. He was
dead inside already of grief; he wished merely for his
body to join his mind and family. But he had not been
permitted.

    Soran gazed up at the fearsome sight on the view-
screen and smiled grimly. The ribbon looked like blaz-
ing doom, like the Borg death rays that had carved up
his homeworld. They had come for him at last, to allow
him to die as he was meant to, as Leanalta and Emo and
Mara had.
 The shuddering ship reeled, stricken.
    At last, Soran thought. Amid the screams, the chaotic
ballet of tumbling bodies, he sat with arms folded tight
about his knees, and let himself be tossed.
    The bulkheads around him began to crumple; a shard
of metal debris stung his forehead, sending blood trick-
ling over his brow, into his eye. Yet Soran merely smiled.
    And in the midst of the tumult, the light lashed forth,
piercing the bulkhead to crackle in their very midst,
lifting the hairs on Soran's head, arms, the back of his
neck. He filled his lungs, embracing death, waiting for
dissolution, his mind focused on a solitary thought:
  Leandra . . .
  Darkness. Stillness. Silence.
    So this is it, he thought with amazement.
Death... Yet he was still aware of his own conscious-
ness, and that awareness brought with it disappoint-
ment. He had hoped to dissolve into nothingness,
thoughtlessness, the void. But here he was, listening to
his own breathing, his own heartbeat... aware of the
movement of cool, moist air against his skin.  And the warm flesh of another against his.
    He opened his eyes to darkness. Not total blackness,
for beyond the open window, stars twinkled, sending
down their gentle light. He stirred, and felt the soft,
yielding velvet of bedclothes beneath his bare back,

38                                                39

 heard the gentle cascade of breaking ocean waves,
 smelled the subtle fragrance of brine mixed with the
 aroma of exotic flora.
     Even in the dimness, he knew: This was Talaal, the
 resort where he had spent his wedding night.
    He turned on his side and found her lying beside him,
her face limned silver by starglow, her dark hair long and
soft, scented like the flowers.
    "Leandra," he whispered, and wept, the dam of
pent-up emotion finally breaking. He slid his arms
around her and held her to his heart, burying his face in
her hair. Miracle of miracles, she was solid, warm--no
dream, but real, truly here in his arms.
  "Leanalta, oh gods, dear gods, Leandra..."
  The universe was once again sane, just.
    "Tolian?" she murmured sleepily. "Darling, what is
it?" His torment brought her back to consciousness.
"What's wrong? Were you dreaming?"
    "Yes, dreaming," he said bitterly, lips brushing her
hair. "Promise me. Promise me you'll never leave .... "
    "Of course I'll never leave you, Tolian. You know that.
But what--"
    Her image faded, paled like a vanishing ghost. He
cried out, horrified to find that he no longer clasped her
soft solid body, but empty air. Yet he could see her
faintly before him, a ribbon of moonlight illuminating
her lovely face, her troubled eyes. See her, and not touch
her...
    "Leandra!" he cried, but he could not hear the words
that issued from her moving lips. At the same time, he
became aware of another reality enveloping them, sur-
rounding them: he was standing with the refugees from
the Lakul aboard a different ship--a Federation ship.

40

    "No!" Soran screamed with fury and grief, clawing at
Leandra's outstretched hand; his own passed through
empty air. "Noooo... !"

    For a fleeting instant, Pavel Chekov paused in the
open doorway and stared in awe--not at the state-of-
the-art medical equipment, or the sleeker, more spacious
sickbay design, but at the horrific tableau within.
    Some fifty Lakul survivors--all graceful humanoids,
the last remnants of the long-lived El Aurian race--lay
draped unconscious over diagnostic beds, sat stunned on
the carpets, or huddled moaning against bulkheads. It
was not their physical injuries that made Chekov and the
two reporters who flanked him briefly recoil. Most
seemed relatively unscathed--in body, at least; but
what horrified Chekov most was the look in the El
Aurians' eyes, a look he knew he would never be able
to forget.
    He could not shake the notion that he had just walked
into an eighteenth-century madhouse.
    Those conscious stared at some distant, alluring sight,
one so beautiful that some were stricken into silence.
Others clawed at the air, grasping vainly at the invisible
desired. Yet none shared the same vision; each was lost
to his own inner world. Moans, whispers, soft weeping
filled the air in an eerie discordant litany.
  The colors are touching me
  I'm caught in the glass
  I can see the seconds
  Help me. Help me...
    Chekov had understood that morning why Captain
Kirk had not wanted to come aboard the Enterprise-B.
Chekov had not wanted to either; he had seen no good

41

reason to sit aboard a starship feeling useless. Yet like the
captain, he had not been able to stay away.
    But the moment Kirk had taken command of the ship,
Chekov felt an overwhelming sense of exhilaration. For
the first time in a year, he felt a sense of purpose--a
sense of rightness, of belonging--which he had not
experienced since retirement, so he did not hesitate to
take charge of sickbay. His emergency medical training
as head of security aboard the Reliant would serve him
now in good stead.
    He hesitated in the doorway to sickbay for only an
instant, then came to himself and quickly located diag-
nostic scanners. He handed one to each of the journalists
mone male, one female, both Terran--with brief in-
structions.
    Before he finished, the ship gave a sudden lurch,
flinging them against a nearby bulkhead. "Good lord!"
the man cried out, his scanner clattering to the floor as
Chekov collided against him. "What was that?"
    Chekov regained his footing quickly, scooped up the
scanner, and handed it back to the man, who simply
stared back in fear.
  "Take it," he ordered. "We've got to get moving--"
    The woman's eyes were wide. "But what was that? Do
you think the energy ribbon--"
    The ship shuddered again; she dropped her scanner
and clung to the bulkhead.
    "It doesn't matter what it is," Chekov said shortly.
"We'll leave that to those on the bridge. These people
need our help." And at the dull, frightened stares that
replied, he thundered, exasperated, "Don't think. Just
move," with such force that the two finally retrieved
their scanners and followed him into the moaning
crowd.

 Don't make me go; please, let me stay ....
 I'm caught, let me go
 Help me. Someone, help me ....
    "It's all right," Chekov soothed. He crouched down
beside a beautiful, ageless woman with long auburn hair
who seemed unharmed. Her sorrowful pale eyes never
focused on him, but remained fixed on some far distant
point. "It's all right. Miss... ma'am... can you hear
me?"
    She did not reply, did not seem at all aware of his
presence as he quickly ran the scanner over her. Nothing
serious, just some bruised ribs. The same held true for
the next survivor--the same near-catatonia, a few
scrapes. By the third patient, Chekov looked over at the
male journalist, who was tending a slightly wounded
victim beside him.
    "Only minor injuries so far," he said, and the man
gave a nod to indicate he had found the same; two El
Aurians down, the female reporter rose and nodded in
agreement. Chekov continued, "But it looks like they're
all suffering from some kind of neural shock."
    "What would cause it?" the woman asked. "The stress
of being attacked?"
    As she spoke her male cohort made his way to another
patient sitting on a biobed, a pale man with an even
paler shock of silvery hair and eyes that made Chekov
think of a candle blazing too fiercely. A thread of bright
blood crossed the center of the man's forehead to the
bridge of his nose, then curved beneath one eye and
down his cheek.
    "Probably not," Chekov answered. "At least, not a
mass reaction like this. Perhaps the energy ribbon--"

42                                                                    43

     "Why?" the pale man suddenly shrieked. Chekov
 turned to see the slender E1 Aurian grabbing the much
 larger journalist by his shoulders and pulling him close.
 "Why?"
    At the insane desperation in the wounded man's eyes,
Chekov quietly hurried over to a supply cabinet.
    The reporter wisely remained calm and did not strug-
gle in the El Aurian's grip. "It's all right," he said
soothingly. "You're safe. You're on the Enterprise."
    "No..." The word was a ragged sob, a plea; the
bleeding man tightened his grip dangerously on the
reporter. "I have to go--I have to get back! You don't
understand! Let me go/"
    Without warning, he released his hold, then lunged at
the reporter's neck. Before he could squeeze the man's
windpipe, Chekov stepped swiftly behind him and emp-
tied a hypospray into his arm.
    The El Aurian fell unconscious beside the wide-eyed
journalist, who put a hand to his throat as he asked,
"What was he talking about?"
    Chekov never got the chance to answer; beside him, a
woman stumbled. He caught her arm, stopping her in
midfall. "Easy there..."
    There seemed no physical reason for her weakness; a
scan revealed no injury. She was a small woman, not
beautiful but handsome, with the agelessness typical of
El Aurians, and a cascade of tiny black braids that fell
halfway to her waist from beneath a large purple cap. She
gazed up at Chekov with dark face, dark eyes so deep
and full of such radiant peace and, at the same time,
such agonizing pain that he drew in his breath.
 "It's going to be okay," he said, smiling warmly at her

in an effort to distract her from that pain. "Here, just lie
down .... "
 And he led her to a biobed.
    In the years to come, when he remembered that day
and thought of James Kirk, he would also think of that
woman, and wonder what had become of her.

    The Enterprise engines groaned, straining against the
pull of the energy tendril, to no avail; the ship shuddered
constantly, helpless, as the ribbon lashed against her.
     "Inertial dampers failing," Demora reported on the
shaking bridge, just before Scott called out: "Engines not responding!"
    Harriman gripped the arms of his trembling chair
with enough force to turn his knuckles pale yellow; he
glanced up at Kirk and said quietly, "I didn't expect to
die my first day on the job."
    With a small, grim smile, Kirk bent closer to the
younger captain's ear, holding on to the edge of the chair
to keep his balance. "The first thing you learn as captain
is how to cheat death." He straightened, then called,
"Scotty?"
    Indignant at what he knew his captain would ask next,
Scott shouted, "There's just no way to disrupt a gravi-
metric field of this magnitude!"
    In the midst of her shuddering, the ship reeled hard
again; Demora clutched her console and cried, "Hull
integrity at eighty-two percent!"
    Kirk said nothing, simply kept his eyes focused on
Scott, who at last grudgingly allowed, "But, I do have a
theory .... "
  Kirk grinned. "I thought you might."
  Scott nodded at the ominous sight on the screen. "An

44                                                                   45

 antimatter discharge directly ahead... it might disrupt
 the field long enough for us to break away."
      Kirk nodded slowly as he considered it. "A photon
 torpedo?"  "Aye."
     The older captain turned toward Demora. "Load
 torpedo bays, prepare to fire on my command."
     "Captain." Demora swiveled toward him, unmasked
 dismay in her eyes. "We don't have any torpedoes."
     "Don't tell me. Tuesday." Kirk closed his eyes briefly,
 then opened them at Harriman, who gave a defeated
 nod.
    "Captain," Scott said, "it may be possible to simulate
a torpedo blast using a resonance burst from the main
deflector dish."
    Fighting to keep his balance on the unsteady deck,
Kirk turned to him with a fresh surge of hope. "Where
are the deflector relays?"
    "Deck fifteen," Demora replied at once. "Section
twenty-one alpha."
    Harriman rose, his bearing unsteady because of the
shaking floor beneath his feet. "I'll go. You have the
bridge." And without pausing to hear the response, he
headed for the turbolift.
    "No, "Kirk said sharply. As tempting as it was for him
to slip into the empty captain's chair, this was
Harriman's ship; and the younger man had just proven
his worth. Only a true captain would swallow his pride
and turn over command for his crew's sake.
    Harriman straightened, and turned to stare at the
older captain behind him. "No," Kirk said. "A captain's
place is on the bridge of his ship." He paused. "I'll take
care of it."

    Harriman smiled with his eyes only; his jaw was set
grimly as he gave Kirk a nod that acknowledged far more
than the older captain's words.
     Kirk turned to Scott as he headed for the turbolift.
"Keep her together until I get back."  "I always do," Scott said.
    Kirk gave him a smile just before the turbolift doors
slid shut.

    And when the lift doors opened onto level fifteen, he
was again in exhilarating free fall, a combination of the
sheerest terror and bliss. Terror, because he remembered
the dreams of the night before and knew Spock would
not be there to catch him; bliss, because he was once
again doing what he had been born to do--make a
difference. There was no time for thought, for reflection,
only for pure mindless action.
    Jim ran down the trembling corridor with a speed he
had thought himself no longer capable of, following the
signs to section twenty-one alpha until at last he made it
to the deflector room, with its massive generators tower-
ing behind a stand of consoles.
    His heart was pounding, his breath coming in gasps,
but none of it mattered; it was the first time in over a
year he had truly felt alive. He found the bulkhead panel
and pried it off, then began to work at rerouting the
deflector circuitry.
    He hadn't been at it more than a minute when the wall
intercom whistled and Scott's voice filtered through,
barely audible over the ship's groaning. "Bridge to
Captain Kirk."
    "Kirk here," he shouted, not taking his gaze from his
work. What needed to be done was simple; and if he

46                                                                 47

 didn't let Scott interrupt him, he would be done in
 seconds ....
    "Captain," Scott cried, in the plaintive tone Kirk
knew so well--well enough to know that this time,
things were seriously critical. Even had Scott not con-
tacted him, he would have known from the feel of the
Enterprise' s shaking--even this new Enterprise' s
shaking--that a major hull breach was imminent. "I
don't know how much longer I can hold her together!"
    In the background, he could hear Demora's voice:
"Forty-five seconds to structural collapse!"
    Kirk took the critical seconds needed to make the final
adjustment, then slammed the wall panel closed with a
sense of triumph. "That's it! Go!"
    He heard Scott terminate the intercom link, and rose
unsteadily to make his way out into the shuddering
corridor. There was no sense in hurrying; they would
either be safe now, or die. He had done all that he could
do.
    Before he had taken more than a dozen steps, the
ship's shaking eased dramatically. He grinned gently; so,
his strange premonition of death had proven to be false~
He was glad, of course, for himself and all those aboard
the ship--and yet he felt a faint, odd disappointment. It
wouldn't have been such a terrible way to go. Would he
ever again get another chance like this to make a
difference?
    He was in midstride when it came: an explosion so
deafening, so teeth-chattering, that it seemed to have
erupted from within his own head. He was lifted from
the floor, slammed against bulkhead or deck--he could
not discern which. In a dazzlingly brilliant millisecond,
he saw everything around him dissolve into the violet

white heat of the energy ribbon, felt his own body
dissolving, merging with the pulse.
    He was, as he had always known he would be, alone.
There was no time for reflection or regret in the primal
moment of dissolution, only a glimmer of gladness that
McCoy and Spock were safe wherever they were, that
they would continue without him.
    And then there was silence, and the beginning of the
ultimate, infinite free fall ....

48                                                                49

FOUR

Several seconds earlier, Montgomery Scott terminated
the link to the deflector room and stared at the thrashing
energy tendril on the main screen--like a great bolt of
lightning gone berserk, it looked. The Enterprise was
shuddering constantly now, pommeled to the sound of
distant thunder like a storm-tossed sailing vessel in the
midst of a violent sea. Scott held his breath as young
Captain Harriman leaned forward to give an order to
Sulu's daughter.
  "Activate main deflector."
    Along with the silent, prayerful crew, Scott watched as
a brilliant beam of energy burst from the main deflector
dish and erupted into a tiny nova off the starboard hull.
    He was breathless, yes, but not as frightened as the
young lieutenant beside him at the console. Scott had
had a full life, and over the past year had found a
measure of contentment in consultant work and family.
    At least, he had thought himself content. But at the
moment Captain Kirk had smiled at him from the
turbolift--

 Keep her together until I get back.
    --Scott had felt a thrill he had almost forgotten, and
seen a spark long extinguished blaze once more in his
captain's eyes.
    In his younger days, Scott would have been terrified--
but too determined to survive to let his terror show, to
let it interfere with what had to be done. Now all that
was gone. Oh, there was still fear of dying, yes, but it was
tempered by experience and the perspective of age. He
had faced such impossible situations many times before
and always walked away whole.
    Even if this time he did not, he had far less to lose than
the young ones surrounding him. He could sense their
fear, and for some odd reason it calmed him, made him
determined to be of help.
    He set a hand on the shoulder of the young lieutenant
beside him, who had been so distracted by the unfolding
drama on the screen that he jumped nervously at the
touch. Scott gave him a reassuring half smile; the young
officer grimaced sheepishly, then returned his gaze to the
screen.
    Scott too turned toward their fate, and watched as the
energy tendril reacted to the deflector blast by leaping
backward, then roiling like angry storm clouds.
    The shuddering lessened; Scott drew in a deep breath
and let it go. "We're breaking free."
    The young lieutenant's grimace turned to a smile;
Harriman's shoulders and bottom lip dropped in con-
cert. Scott began to straighten, with the intent of going
over to congratulate the young captain--
    The screen went blinding white as the ship lurched
hard to port. Scott clawed at the console, lost purchase,

50                                              51

 and came down on his backside on the deck. The
 lieutenant was thrown sideways into Scott's chair and
 nearly fell on top of him, but regained his balance in
 time.
     Scott stayed where he was, waiting for the next strike
 for one second, for two. For three, and as he sat, the
 shaking gradually eased, and the ship was still.
     Scott rose slowly to his feet, watching as Demora
 scrambled back to her station and peered at the helm
 readout; a broad grin spread over her features. "We're
 clear."
    Harriman was miraculously still at the conn. For a
moment he stared at the screen, clearly amazed to find
himself still alive, then punched a control on the arm of
his chair. "You did it, Kirk!" He swiveled toward
Demora. "Damage report, Ensign."
    Demora's smile had already faded; with the efficiency
of a seasoned officer, she studied her console. Afine lass,
Scott thought; next time he saw her father, he'd be sure
to tell Sulu how well she performed in the crisis.
"There's some buckling on the starboard nacelle,"
Demora reported. She frowned abruptly and glanced up
at Harriman. "We've also got a hull breach in the
engineering section. Emergency forcefields are in place
and holding."
    Scott could not have explained then how he knew.
Engineering covered a very large area of the ship, and
dozens of areas could have been damaged without
coming anywhere near the deflector room. Yet at the
instant Demora said, We've got a hull breach, he went
cold. For a moment he could not speak; when he did, he
could manage no more than a single, hoarse question.

 "Where?"
    Demora looked at him. His expression and eyes must
have betrayed him, for at the sight of his face, she
seemed to realize what he was asking. Her face went
slack; her dark eyes narrowed with concern. As she
stared down at the console again, Harriman rose from
his chair, as if he, too, suddenly shared Scott's ominous
conviction.
    Let me be wrong, Scott prayed, but as he watched
Demora's eyes widen, then narrow again at the sight on
her board, he knew he was not.
    "Sections twenty through twenty-eight," Demora read
dully, "on decks thirteen, fourteen..." She gazed up at
Scott. "... and fifteen."
    Numbly, Scott returned to the aft console and pressed
the comm control. "Bridge to Captain Kirk." He
paused, waited an agony of seconds, then repeated,
"Captain Kirk... please respond."
    An eternity of silence. Scott could not meet the gazes
of all those focused on him; he bowed his head and
briefly closed his eyes.
    When he had gathered himself enough to speak again,
he turned to Demora. "Have Chekov meet me on deck
fifteen."
    He headed for the turbolift, only distantly aware that
Harriman followed close behind.

    In sickbay, Chekov continued to help the survivors.
Other than their mental disorientation, the worst
wound--a facial cut, from a bulkhead fragment--
belonged to the pale man who had attacked the reporter,
and now lay sedated under restraints. The two journal-

52                                                                53

ists made fairly efficient orderlies, and it seemed the
situation would soon be under control.
    As he worked, he found it easier to maintain his
balance, and gradually came to realize that the ship's
shaking had eased. He smiled over at his two impromptu
assistants, who were busily scanning patients.
    "You see?" he called. "The people on the bridge can
be trusted to take care of things."
    The two grinned with relief. "Thank goodness," said
the woman. "I was beginning to think I'd never get the
chance to file a great--"
    Chekov never heard the rest. The world suddenly
heaved to one side, hurling him against a diagnostic bed.
When the rocking subsided, he found himself on the
deck atop the dark-skinned woman with the intriguing
eyes. He scrambled to his feet. "Are you all right?"
    She did not reply, but pushed herself to a sitting
position. Her purple cap had fallen off; Chekov retrieved
it and helped her on with it. She stared at him blankly as
he offered her a hand, then pulled her to her feet and
guided her back to the biobed.
    All the while she stared, as though looking through
him at another, more distant sight. And then suddenly
she blinked, and seemed to see him--really see him--
and gazed intently up into his eyes.
    "He's gone there, now." She said it so matter-of-
factly, addressing Chekov with such lucid directness that
he could not help responding.
 "Who's gone? Gone where?"
    "To the other side." Her face grew somber with
compassion. "He's gone."
 Chekov glanced up as the female reporter called

jubilantly, "The shaking! It's stopped!" But only for an
instant; the El Aurian woman's gaze compelled him to
finish the conversation.
    He was being foolish, of course, to think her words
had any meaning. She had suffered a serious neural
shock; she was raving. He tried to imagine how Dr.
McCoy would handle this: Now, ma'am, you just lie back
and relax ....
    He smiled again and patted her hand. "Don't talk any
more. You need to rest." Reluctantly, he turned away.
    "Your friend," she said, with such conviction that he
looked back. But he shook off the strange current of fear
her words evoked, smiling palely at his own irrationality,
and began once more to move away.
    "Your friend, Jim," she said, and Chekov wheeled to
face her.
    "Commander Chekov." Demora's voice filtered
through the intercom. Her tone seemed strained, oddly
formal. "Captain Scott requests that you meet him on
level fifteen, near engineering."
    Still staring at the El Aurian woman's inscrutable
expression, Chekov made his way through the cluster of
seated survivors to the nearest comm panel. "Demora,
what is it? Is something wrong?"
  But she had already terminated the link.
    He left the remaining patients in the reporters' care
and ran to the nearest turbolift. Demora's terse message
had filled him with profound uneasiness, verging on
panic; even so, he did not permit himself to think, to
suspect what he would find on level fifteen outside
engineering until he arrived.
  And saw Scott and Harriman, standing on the last few

54                                                              55

meters of unscorched corridor, staring silently beyond a
flickering forcefield and the jagged remnants of a bulk.
head into open space.
    "My God," Chekov whispered, as he stepped beside
them. He knew before he asked what the answer to his
question would be; he had seen it in Scott's defeated
posture, even before he had seen his face. "Was anyone
in there?"
    Harriman gave him a look of such pure sympathy that
Chekov's heart skipped a beat. Scott never looked at
him, but gazed steadily out at blackness and stars before
replying softly, "Aye..."
    The rest of his time aboard the Enterprise-B was spent
in a daze. He did not remember whether Scott or
Harriman told him who it was that had been lost; nor
did he remember returning to the bridge. But he re-
called quite clearly the moment when he stood be-
side Scott and Harriman at the helm, and the muted
anguish in Demora's voice when she said, I've checked
the entire ship and the surrounding space. There~ no
sign of him.
    He had looked to Scott then, unable to believe that
there would not be yet another miracle, some way to pull
his friend and captain from death's jaws once more.
They had done it before, after alltwhen Kirk had been
trapped in interstitial space near the Tholian border.
They had thought him dead then, but he had survived.
Why not now?
    But Scott merely sighed as he looked at the empty
command chair, then shook his head. "Just a quick run
around the block," he whispered bitterly.
 "No," Chekov said, and felt the sting of tears behind

his eyes as reality finally sank home. "It can't be. I never
thought it would end like this .... "
    Scott stepped over beside his friend and gently laid a
hand on his shoulder. "All things must end, lad."
    The two men yielded to grief for a time, unconscious
of reporters and the camera's glare, until at last Harri-
man said quietly, "Let's go home."
    And he moved over to the conn and took his place as
captain of the Enterprise.

56                                                              57

FIVE

On the bridge of the Starship Excelsior, Captain Hikaru
Sulu sat in his command chair gazing out at stars and
darkness hurtling past on the viewscreen as he sipped his
tea. At the moment, the bridge was calm as a glassy sea.
The past few days had been slow enough to allow him
the luxury of reflection; Excelsior was returning from a
star-mapping expedition in the Thanatos sector. There
was nothing left but the long journey home, then reas-
signment. And so, Sulu was left with hours to do little
else but contemplate. Today, the subject was time--
how, with each star streaking by, another second passed
that could not be recaptured; another second that led
him inexorably toward the unknown future.
    Sulu smiled privately to himself, amused at his own
moroseness, and decided it was directly related to the
launch of the Enterprise-B. He'd felt both disappointed
and relieved that he would not return to Earth in time to
attend; disappointed, because he would have liked to
share Demora's exhilaration on the day of her first
mission, and see all his old friends again. At the same

58

time, he felt relief that he would not have to be reminded
once again that old times could never be revived.
    And yet--it was good to be reminded of the imperma-
nence of things. Grief was the product of useless grasp-
ing at the unattainable; happiness came from accepting
the fact of change, and even one's own death. The
Buddhists had a useful meditation for just that: Imagine
yourself, alive and well and happy.
    Now, imagine yourself--dead, your skin cold and
graying, your body growing stiff.
    Imagine your dead body decaying, alive with maggots,
the flesh coming away from the bones as it dissolves,
returns to the earth ....
    He had contemplated his own death enough times to
no longer be horrified by it. But the concept of loss still
troubled him. Someday, Sulu told himself, this gleaming
ship' would be gone. Just as the original Enterprise
herself was gone, destroyed as they had stood on the
Genesis planet and watched her streak to her death
across a twilight sky. Perhaps he would not lose Excel-
sior so violently; perhaps he would merely surrender her
to another captain.
     He glanced up from his reverie as his first officer,
 Masoud Valtane, let out a gusting sigh. A xenogeologist,
 Valtane had been restless of late because he had run out
 of new planets to play with. Sulu repressed a fond smile
 as Valtane, who stood in his customary place at the
 captain's left, began to nervously stroke his dark mus-
 tache. Valtane was not beloved by the crew, in part
 because of his total ineptness at social relationships and
 his reputation as a stickler for detail on the job. But over
 time, Sulu had grown to like him, because he'd learned

59

 that Valtane's social clumsiness came not from aloof-
 ness, as most assumed, but from his almost childlike lack
 of pretense. And maybe because his ability to take any
 comment literally reminded Sulu more than a little bit of
 another science officer.
    The comm link on the command-chair arm suddenly
signaled; Sulu punched a toggle with the edge of his fist,
jostling the tea in its cup. "Bridge."
    "Captain." Lieutenant Djugashvili's habitually calm
monotone was pitched a half-octave higher than normal;
her exhilaration was contagious enough to make Sulu set
his cup of tea on its saucer and straighten in his chair.
"Magnetic interlocks are nonfunctional; we're losing
coolant. Warp breach is imminent."
    Sulu glanced up at Valtane, who had stopped stroking
his mustache, curved hand frozen in front of his lips.
Lojur, the Halkan navigator, heard and stared over his
shoulder, his family symbol, tattooed in red between his
pale eyebrows, deeply furrowed. Beside him at the helm,
Lieutenant Shandra Docksey turned as well, dark au-
burn hair swinging.
    Docksey was the newest addition to the crew; she shot
a swift panicked look at Lojur, who laid a reassuring
hand on the back of her chair. The two had been
inseparable since Docksey's arrival from Starfleet Acad-
emy only days before, with Lojur playing the role of
seasoned veteran/mentor/instructor to the hilt.
    "How much time do we have?" Sulu asked Dju-
gashviii.
 "Less than three minutes, sir."
    Not enough time, Sulu knew from past drills, to
evacuate all engineering personnel to the primary hull--

60

and the Excelsior was too far out to transport them to
safety. "Evacuate everyone to the lifeboats." "Aye, sir."
    "Red alert," Sulu ordered as he severed the comm
link, and the klaxon began to screech unnervingly over-
head. He swiveled his chair toward the helm, so quickly
that the tea sloshed over the side of his cup and spilled
onto the fragile china saucer beneath. "Lieutenant
Lojur. Prepare to separate from secondary hull."
    "Yes, Captain." Lojur turned back toward his console
and began to work.
    "Docksey. Approximate distance from planets or oth-
er structures?"
    The young lieutenant seemed to have recovered from
her moment of disconcertment; she replied smoothly,
"One half parsec to the nearest starbase, sir. No planets
within a five-parsec radius."
    Sulu nodded approvingly. "Stand by to take us to
maximum warp, Mr. Docksey. I want at least two
parsecs between us and the secondary hull when she
goes. Mr. Lojur--initiate separation procedure."
 "Initiating."
 "Mr. Valtane--"
    Valtane, who had hurried to his station the instant the
red alert began, turned to reply, his restlessness replaced
by the same intense anticipation shared by those on the
bridge.
  "--time left before detonation?" Sulu finished.
  "Two minutes, six seconds, Captain."
    Sulu nodded, satisfied, and waited, silently counting
the seconds until at last Lojur called, "Separation proce-
dure complete, Captain."

61

     The view on the main screen shifted, from starry black
 void to the image of the secondary hull--engineering
 and the warp engine nacelles. Sulu watched as a swarm
 of tiny lifeboats erupted from the sides of the hull like
 angry bees spilling from a threatened hive. "Time?"
   "One minute, thirty seconds, sir."
     Sulu turned to his navigator. "Lojur. You've got thirty
 seconds to transport those lifeboat operators aboard."
     "Yes, sir." With Docksey's wide, green-eyed gaze
 upon him, the Halkan set to work--with, Sulu noted,
 the faint, confident air of an old salt showing the newbie
 how it was done.
    "Captain." Gold-and-silver hair pinned up to reveal a
graceful neck, Rand turned smoothly from the commu-
nications board. Of all the bridge crew, she had the most
experience; she had watched the events unfold with an
unruffled, detached air. But now there was a note of
curiosity in her voice that made Sulu glance at her in
earnest concern. "You have an incoming personal mes-
sage. From Earth."
    From Demora, Sulu decided, with parental eagerness
and pride; probably to give an excited report of her first
day aboard the Enterprise-B. He was pleased she had
thought to contact him, disappointed that he could not
respond. "It'll have to wait."
    "It's from Pavel Chekov," Rand said. Only then did
her composure waver to reveal a subtle catch in her
voice. "He sounds... I think... Something has hap-
pened, sir."
    At first, Sulu did not comprehend; and then realized,
with slow-dawning dread, that Chekov had been one of
the old group who had attended the maiden launch of

62

the Enterprise-B. A single thought eclipsed all others,
blotting out the klaxon's wail, the frenzied activity on
the bridge:
 Dernora . . .
 He caught his breath, suddenly cold with fear.
    But no--it would have been Captain Harriman's
place to contact him if something had happened to her.
Unless Pavel, as a friend, wanted to break it to him first.
 Unless...
    "Ask him to stand by." Sulu turned to Valtane and
ordered brusquely, "Time."
 "One minute, thirteen seconds to core breach, sir."
    "In thirteen seconds," Sulu told Docksey, "get us out
of here. Warp ten. Lojur--"
    "Understood, Captain. Transporter room reports that
all but seven of the lifeboat operators have been brought
aboard.~We'll get them all, sir."
    Sulu released a small sigh, rose from his chair, and
stepped over to stand beside Rand. "Put it through to
this station, Commander."
    She touched a control. At the station in front of her, a
small viewscreen brightened in a burst of visual static,
then resolved itself into the image of Pavel Chekov.
    Sulu bent down, resting his palms on Rand's console
to study his old friend. Chekov seemed to have aged
abruptly since Sulu had last spoken with him. Yet it was
not the extra gray hairs or lines etched in his face that
gave that impression.
    No, Sulu decided. It was the look of dazed grief in
Chekov's glistening, red-rimmed eyes. That look struck
the Excelsior captain like a physical blow; he recoiled
from it, stunned.

63

    "Pavel," he said softly. "My God, Pavel..." He tried
to form the question that sprang to his lips, and could
not; it hung unspoken between them.  Who died?
    "Hikaru." Chekov's tone was dull, controlled, but'
Sulu heard the undercurrent of emotion that threatened
to break through. "I am so sorry to be the one to tell
you. During the launch, the Enterprise-B was trapped in
some sort of... energy disturbance. The hull was
breachedre"
    "Demora," Sulu said swiftly, but before the finali
syllable was out of his mouth, Chekov shook his head. ~
    Behind them, Lojur called, "All lifeboat operators
aboard."
"Engaging engines," Docksey reported. "Warp ten."
Sulu heard them with only peripheral awareness, as[
though they were suddenly far distant, the events unfold-
ing on the bridge insignificant. The small image of his
friend now consumed his attention.
    "She is fine," Chekov said stiffly. "Still on duty.
But... the captain went down to the deflector room in
an attempt to rescue the ship. He succeeded, but
was..." Overwhelmed, Chekov lowered his head.'
"... killed..."                                 '~
    "The captain?" Sulu blinked at the screen in con-!
fusion. He knew Harriman, the captain of the
Enterprise-B, as an acquaintance; but they were not
friends. Why would Chekov be calling him about--
    Beside him, a small moan of despair escaped Rand's
lips before she could raise her hand to them.
    Sulu glanced down at her, and knew; a jolt of emotion
passed down the length of his spine like pure, cold

electricity. He gripped the edge of Rand's console and
whispered, "The captain..."
    The thought seemed impossible. He could imagine
hearing such news about Scotty, or the doctor, even
Chekov, but Kirk--Kirk was larger than life. A legend.
Immortal. Kirk could not die ....
    "Scott is notifying Uhura and Kirk's nephew,"
Chekov said awkwardly--as if searching for the appro-
priate words and finding them elusive. "And I will notify
Mr. Spock. Starfleet is arranging a memorial service."
He hesitated. "I'm sorry, Hikaru. I don't know what else
to say. I can't believe this has happened .... "
    "Pavel." Sulu touched the edge of the screen. "Pavel,
my friend. Thank you for being the one to tell me. Take
care ....
Chekov's stricken face wavered and was gone.
Suluplaced a hand on Rand's shoulder, then turned to
face his crew. "Cancel red alert." He spoke quietly, but
there was a hardness in his voice that allowed it to carry
over the screaming klaxon.
    "Sir?" Valtane directed a questioning stare at his
captain; Lojur and Docksey followed suit.
    "Cancel red alert." Sulu stepped down from Rand's
station and retook his chair, then hit a control on the
console arm. "All hands: The drill is over." He drew an
unsteady breath. "James T. Kirk died today aboard the
Enterprise-B. I'd like to observe a moment of silence in
his honor."
    The klaxon ceased abruptly; the bridge went utterly
still as all motion, all sound, ceased.
    Along with his crew, Sulu sat and stared out at the
stars, and the dark, silent future.

64                                            65

    Leonard McCoy slipped quietly inside the interfaith
chapel on the outer grounds of Starfleet's San Francisco
headquarters and took a seat near the back, where
sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows,
painting the chairs, the carpet, the backs of McCoy'sl
hands, blue, red, violet. The room was small, free ofI
adornments, save for the large spray of fragrant calla
lilies near the podium. Most importantly, it was silent,
empty. The doctor had intentionally come forty-five
minutes early, to have some private moments alone with
his friend.
    Not that Jim was here. It was a memorial service, not a
funeral; Kirk had left behind no corpse, which seemed
somehow fitting. The captain had simply dissolved into
space, neat and clean.
    McCoy settled back against the chair and released a
sigh. He had slept little the night before; when he had, he
had dreamt of Jim, returning to the long-distant time
and place when the captain had disappeared while on
the ghost ship Reliant. They had all thought he was dead
then, too; but he wasn't, merely trapped in interstitial
space.
    In McCoy's dream, Kirk was there again, floating
eerily in his space suit, waving his armsmjust as he had
done when, during spatial interphase, his wraithlike
form had appeared on the bridge.
    Only in the dream, Kirk wasn't gesturing for help, but
waving in greeting. Smiling, his face split by a broad,
euphoric grin. Inviting the doctor to join him. McCoy
had wept with joy to see his friend happy and at peace,
and had wakened with tears coursing down his cheeks.
    There were times when the realization that Jim was
truly gone filled him with bitter grief; yet those moments

were fewer than those in which his pain was tempered by
the knowledge that Jim had led a good life, an amazing
life, and had accomplished more, enjoyed more, experi-
enced more than most ever would.
    The door opened softly; McCoy turned at the sound,
and caught a quick flash of Spock's face in the crack. The
Vulcan saw the doctor and retreated, began to close the
door.
    McCoy rose and stepped out into the aisle.
"No... Don't go, Spock. Please. Come in .... "
    Spock hesitated in the doorway. "I do not wish to
disturb you, Doctor."
    "If it were anyone else, Spock, I'd want to be alone.
And I'd hoped never to meet you under these
circumstances... but I'm glad you're here." The sight
of the Vulcan brought a surge of fresh grief, as McCoy
realized that they could never again be a trio; Jim would
never be with them again. Tears stung the back of
McCoy's eyes; he cleared his throat and gathered him-
self. He had thought he had grieved enough in private to
be past suddenly welling up--and he'd promised him-
self firmly that he would not embarrass the Vulcan by
crying in public. But he found himself fighting the urge
to fall, weeping, on Spock's shoulder.
    He managed an uncertain smile as Spock strode over,
the rainbow colors reflected from the stained glass
shifting over his solemn face. To the doctor's utter
astonishment, the Vulcan paused in front of him, then
intentionally offered his hand. "Doctor. I, too, regret the
circumstance. But it is good to see you again."
    McCoy gaped at the proffered hand a moment--
Vulcans, touch telepaths, found physical contact with
chaotically minded humans distressing~then gazed up

66                                            67

at his friend and gratefully took it. Spock's grip was firm,
feverishly warm, and seemed to McCoy to emanate such
calm, compassionate strength that he found himself
misting up again.
"I can't believe it," the doctor said, with sudden
anguish. "Three days, and I just can't get used to it. l
can't believe Jim is gone."
"He is gone." Spock's tone was flat, with a faint trace
of bitterness. "Whether we believe it or not." He slowly
released McCoy's grip, and nodded at the chairs. "Shall
we sit?"                                    ~
"Oh. Yes." McCoy retook his seat; the Vulcan settled I
beside him. For a moment, the two sat in comfortable
silence, their gazes directed ahead, at the lilies beside the
podium. And then McCoy said, "Spock... do you
remember when we were in Yosemite, with Jim? When
he said that he always knew he'd die alone?"
"Yes," Spock answered evenly.
"I can't help thinking I should have been there with
him. I mean, I know you couldn't bernyou were in-
volved in a mission with your father~~but I was simply
off with Joanna watching my grandchild's graduation. I
guess I could have gone to the Enterprise-B's christening
if I had really wanted to. But... I didn't. I was tired of
Starfleet, and, frankly, didn't want to have to waste my
time aboard a ship where we weren't needed. I resented
being put on display." The doctor hesitated. "I just can't
stop thinking: If I'd gone with him, maybe he wouldn't
have--"
"Doctor," Spock interrupted firmly, "your presence
there would have made no difference. The captain would
have sent you to sickbay, and he would still have gone to
the deflector room. Even had you been with him in the

                68                        E
                                 l

deflector room--" He paused; the barely perceptible
glimmer of sorrow in his eyes told McCoy that the
Vulcan had shared the same guilt, and had logically
reasoned it through. "--it would have only made things
more difficult for him. He would have been concerned
for your safety."
    McCoy digested this a moment. "Maybe you're
right... I guess if he had to leave us, he went the way he
wanted: saving the Enterprise."
    Spock angled his long face toward the doctor and
somehow managed to convey the notion of a smile
without moving the comers of his lips a fraction of a
millimeter--though, McCoy noticed, the comers of his
eyes crinkled almost imperceptibly. "It is not such a bad
way to die."
    McCoy turned his head sharply at that. "That's
right,.. you should know, shouldn't you?" The memo-
ry of Spock's agonizing death from radiation exposure
was almost too horrible to bear, and still sent a shudder
through him. Yet there was some comfort knowing that
Jim's end had been less painful, more mercifully swift.
"You know something?"
 The Vulcan faced him silently, waiting.
    "I feel sorry for you, Spock." He said it kindly,
sincerely, without any of the acerbity he had directed at
the Vulcan in the past. "Because you're gonna outlive all
of us. And you're going to have to experience the loss of a
dear friend over and over again." He paused, trying to
keep his tone light and jesting, to keep the huskiness
from his voice, and failed. "That's what you get for
hanging around us humans. No katras to preserve for
posterity, no last-minute trips to Mount Seleya to bring
us back..."

69

    Sudden tears filled his eyes, turning Spock's stoic
countenance into a blur. "Damn," McCoy said, as they
spilled hot onto his cheeks, then swore again at the
sound of his shaking voice. "Damn. I'm sorry, Spock."
He quickly wiped them away with the outer edge of an
index finger, and riffled through his pockets for a hand-
kerchief. "I promised myself I wouldn't do this to
you .... "
    "It's all right," the Vulcan said softly. "I have served
with humans for many years. I am therefore quite
accustomed to emotional displays."
    McCoy smiled apologetically through his tears as he
continued to search his pockets. No handkerchief, but he
pulled out something that made his smile grow sincere.
"Look at this, Spock--I bet you thought I'd tucked this
away in some drawer and forgotten about it." He held up
the Vulcan mandala, its coppery finish turned green
from countless fingerprints. "I carry it around with me.
Call it my Vulcan good-luck charm." He managed a
feeble imitation of a chuckle. "I think maybe I ought to
contemplate it a bit before the others get here. My logic's
not doing so good these days."
    He hesitated, remembering, rubbing the metal be-
tween his fingers. "Remember the day you gave this to
me?"
  "Of course, Doctor."
    "And Jim gave me that clock. Seems like only
yesterday--but here it is already a year. I was up all last
night, listening to Jim's clock strike the hours, from
midnight to dawn. He gave it to me to remember the
good times, he said--but all I could think about was
how quickly they pass. Time just keeps moving past us,

and we're helpless to stop it. You, me, even this"--he
held up the mandala--"will someday be gone."
    "'Time,'" Spock quoted quietly, "'the devourer of all
things.'"
    "Yes, time..." McCoy looked up swiftly, sudden
anger in his voice. "I can't stop thinking about
time .... "

70                                                                                71

Part Two

Seventy-eight Years Later

SIX

On the main deck of the Enterprise, Captain Jean-Luc
Picard stared up at the fluttering blue-and-white banner
of the United Federation of Planets and drew in a deep
lungful of brine-scented air. Beneath his feet, creaking
timber rocked softly to the rhythm of lapping waves;
above, wind whistled through the rigging.
    More than anything, he wanted to throw back his head
and laugh, to revel in the perfection of the moment. Fate
seemed unutterably sweet; he felt blessed to be a man
who had found what he most wanted to do, what he was
born to do, with his life. Yet, as he looked over his
assembled bridge crew--appropriately costumed for the
historical period--he kept his expression somber.
    The task proved challenging, especially when he met
his second-in-command's mischievous gaze. Will Riker
looked amazingly at home in white breeches and dark
blue waistcoat with gold epaulettes on the shoulders; but
the beard and rakish tilt to his plumed hat spoke more of
a buccaneer than a nineteenth-century naval officer.
With a macaw on his shoulder, say, and a peg leg...

75

     Picard signaled Riker with a curt nod, then looked
 away swiftly before his own smile gravitated from his
 eyes to his lips.
     "Bring out the prisoner!" Riker bellowed with obvious
 relish.
     A nearby hatch opened. Crouching to avoid losing her
 tricornered hat on a low-hanging beam, Deanna Troi
 emerged, followed by Geordi La Forge--looking dis-
 tinctly un-nineteenth-century in his VISOR--and the
 prisoner: Worf, hatless and in shirtsleeves. Prodded by
 his two escorts, the Klingon moved slowly to the clank of
 iron chains binding his wrists and ankles.
     "Mr. Worf," Picard intoned with what he hoped was
 convincing severity, "I always knew this day would
 come. Are you prepared to face the charges?"
     Worf blinked and took in his strange surroundings,
 seemingly overwhelmed.
     With mock ferocity, Troi jabbed him in the ribs.
 "Answer him!"
    The Klingon gave her a glance at once puzzled and
bemused, then gathered himself with dignity. "I am
prepared."
    Picard directed another nod at Riker, who produced a
large scroll of parchment from beneath his waistcoat. He
cleared his throat and began to read as Geordi removed
the prisoner's shackles:
    "We, the officers and crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise,
being of sound mind and judgment, hereby make the
following charges against Lieutenant Worf: One. That he
did knowingly and willfully perform above and beyond
the call of duty on countless occasions. Two. That he has
been a good and solid officer on this ship for one score
less twelve years. And three. Most seriously... that he

76

has earned the respect and admiration of the entire
crew."
As the last of the prisoner's chains clattered to the
wooden deck, Riker rewound the scroll.
"There can be only one judgment for such crimes,"
Picard proclaimed, working hard to maintain his stern
visage. "I hereby promote you to the rank of Lieutenant
Commander, with all the rights and privileges thereto.
And may God have mercy on your soul."
The crew roared its approval. Picard at last permitted
himself to smile, and leaned forward to shake Worf's
hand. "Congratulations, Commander."
Worf could not quite restrain a small smile himself.
"Thank you, sir."
The captain continued to remain in the Klingon's
strong, warm grip until Riker stepped between them, his
eyes bright with merriment. "Extend the plank!"
The crew swarmed in to surround Worf and pushed
him toward the ship's flank, where a long, narrow plank
appeared over the lapping sea.
"Lower the badge of office!" Riker shouted.
Above him, a crewman who had shimmied up a
yardarm lowered a rope, at the end of which hung a
naval officer's three-cornered hat, complete with flutter-
ing plume. The hat descended slowly until it dangled
some ten feet above the end of the plank.
"You can do it, Worfl" Troi called, waving her own
hat. "Don't look down!"
  The others chimed in: "Good luck! ....Don't fall
 in..."
     Picard watched with open amusement. Riker sidled
 up to him and said confidently, "He'll never make it. No
 one has."

77

     Worf clearly needed no encouragement. With consum-
 mate determination and grace, he stepped onto the
 plank and inched toward the dangling trophy.
     Geordi cupped his hands around his mouth and
 called, "That's a looong drop to the water!"
     Riker grinned and added, in a loud stage voice, "I bet
 that water's freezing!"
     Valiantly, the Klingon ignored his crew members'
 taunts, but continued his slow progress along the plank,
 which grew narrower with each step.
    Picard watched as, nearby, a slight crease formed
between Beverly Crusher's auburn brows. "Geordi." She
turned to the engineer with concern. "Did you remem-
ber to engage the holodeck safety program? I don't know
if Klingons can swim .... "
    Geordi's lips curved upward in a playful half-moon as
he kept his gaze on the Klingon. "I'm not sure."
    The bridge grew quiet as Worf reached the end of the
plank, then gazed up at the plumed hat, which dangled
mere feet above his reach. The Klingon drew a breath,
then gathered his muscular bulk and leapt.
    Picard grinned in amazement; beside him, Riker
gasped as Worf completed an impossible jet~, snatched
the hat with one hand, and landed hard on the board.
    For an instant, disaster seemed imminent. The wood-
en plank flexed, groaning mightily as Worf waved his
arms in an effort to keep his balance...
    And then he faced the spellbound audience, his coun-
tenance proud and defiant, and set the hat on his head.
    The crew cheered. Picard smiled over at his second-in-
command, who was applauding with less-than-sincere
enthusiasm. "If there's one thing I've learned over the

78

years," the captain said, "it's never underestimate a
Klingon."
    Riker did not respond. His expression remained neu-
tral, but Picard caught a glint of humor in his eyes before
Will's lids lowered subtly.
    "Computer," the commander ordered. "Remove
plank."
    The board beneath the conquering Klingon's feet
suddenly vanished; flailing arms and legs, Worf fell with
a resounding splash into the turquoise sea.
    Amid the renewed cheering, Picard turned to his
second-in-command and said dryly, "Number One...
it's retract plank, not remove plank."
    "Oh." Riker's blue eyes widened with mock inno-
cence. "Of course, sir. Sorry."
    Nearby, Data tilted his head in confusion as he peered
over the side rail at Worf, who was thrashing through the
water toward a proffered rope ladder. He straightened
and turned toward Beverly. "Doctor... I must confess
I am uncertain as to why someone falling into the
freezing water is amusing."
    She looked up from the water with a toothy grin. "It's
all in good fun, Data."
    The android studied her blankly for an instant. "I do
not understand."
    "Try to get into the spirit of things." She gestured
enthusiastically at the surroundings. "Learn to be a little
more... spontaneous."
    Data drew his head back and lowered his chin, pro-
cessing this new information... then reached forward
and, with only the precise amount of force necessary,
pushed Beverly over the rail. He watched with a clinical

79

 air as she plummeted into the water with a shriek, then
 straightened to judge the reactions of his colleagues.
     No one was laughing--including Picard, who had
 witnessed the entire exchange. However, the captain's
 mood was so cheerful, so expansive, that he had to force
 himself to repress a chuckle. He dared a peek at Riker
 whose own carefully controlled expression beneath
 amused eyes once again forced Picard to quickly look
 away.
     Geordi immediately hurried over to the rail, peered
 down, then looked up at his confused friend.
 "Data... that wasn't funny."
    "I was attempting to be spontaneous," Data replied,
his tone one of mild puzzlement. "I obviously do not
understand what constitutes 'getting into the spirit of
things.' Why is it that Commander Worf's fall into the
water is 'good fun,' yet Dr. Crusher's is not?"
    "It's... well..." Geordi sighed. "It's hard to ex-
plain, Data." He leaned forward to offer a hand to Worf,
who had made it to the top of the ladder. Dripping but
with soggy officer's hat proudly in hand, the Klingon
stepped over the railing onto the deck. He was followed
soon after by a very wet--and very unamused--Beverly
Crusher.
    Flanked by his second-in-command, Picard made his
way up to the quarterdeck, then turned to address his
crew.
    "Well, now that we're all aboard..." He paused to
smile. "Number One, bring the ship before the wind.
Let's see what's out there."
    "Aye, aye, sir." Will directed his gaze to Deanna Troi.
"Take the wheel, Commander."
Troi quickly climbed the steps up to the quarterdeck

80

and took her place behind the ship's wheel as Riker
shouted, "All hands make sail! Topgallants and courses!
Stand by the braces!"
    Picard watched with pure pleasure as his crew sprang
into action, unfurling sails and trimming yardarms. "'I
must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the
sky,'" he quoted, then released a contented sigh. "Imag-
ine what it was like, Will. No engines... no
computers... just the wind, the sea, and the stars to
guide you."
    Riker's lips quirked with amusement. "Bad
food... brutal discipline..." He paused, then deliv-
ered the killer blow. "No women...
    Picard shook his head, smiling; but before he could
retort, the computer interrupted. "Bridge to Captain
Picard .... "
  "Picard here."
"There is a personal message for you from Earth."
Picard sighed again, this time with mild annoyance at
the interruption. "Put it through down here." He turned
back toward Riker. "It was freedom, Will. No
ties... And the best thing about a life at sea was that
they couldn't reach you."
     He headed toward the bow, still smiling. He had no
 inkling what the message might be about, but whatever
 it was, he would deal with it quickly and return to his
 companions on the holodeck. He was grateful for today's
 festivities; they served to remind him of his great good
 fortune in being able to lead the life he had always
 wanted, that of a starship captain.
     He passed a few crew members hanging high up on the
 yardarm, and called up, grinning: "Look alive there!"
 And then, as he reached the bow: "Computer, arch."

81

    On the forecastle, an arch opened onto a bank of
computer panels. Picard stepped through and cheerfully
activated a monitor--without an instant's hesitation, he
would remember later, or the faintest premonition of the
horror to come.

    It was Deanna Troi who first felt that something was
wrong. She had been reveling in the good spirits shared
by the crew--most notably the captain, who of everyone
seemed most to appreciate the historical scenario she
had suggested for the promotion ceremony, and Worf,
who despite his outward Klingon reserve had been
genuinely touched by his crewmates' regard.
    Yet as she stood at the ship's wheel, she sensed a
sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion, so raw and
strong that at first she was too dazed to identify it. For an
instant, she clutched the wheel and forced herself to
breathe calmly; only then could she distance herself
enough to analyze it.
    Grief, mixed with horror. So strongly reminiscent of
what she had felt when her father had died that the
proximity of it was deeply disturbing.
    She looked toward the bow, and saw Picard standing
in the archway. At the shock on his slack, ashen face, she
turned toward the crew member standing next to her
and said, "Here. Take the wheel." She did not explain,
but moved inconspicuously, so as not to draw attention
to herself or the captain; an emotion this devastating
demanded extreme tact, extreme privacy.
    She hurried down the quarterdeck steps toward the
arch; toward Picard, who stood staring at an invisible
sight far beyond the monitor in front of him, his lips

82

slightly parted, his eyes narrowed with unspeakable
pain.
    Troi hesitated at a respectful distance. "Captain," she
said, so quietly that none but Picard would hear, "are
you all right?"
    For a moment, Picard did not answer; for a moment,
he seemed not to hear. And then he seemed to retrieve
his mind from a very great distance to focus it on the
present place and time. "Yes," he said to the screen.
"Fine." He turned blindly toward Troi. "If you'll excuse
me...
    He switched off the screen, turned away. "Computer,
exit."
    The holodeck doors appeared before him. Troi
watched as he headed into the corridor, carrying his
grief with him.

    In the meantime, Riker had headed down to the main
deck and hadn't noticed the captain's reaction or
Deanna's departure from her post. He was having a
particularly good time, especially since he had worked
the past year to overcome any lingering jealousy he had
felt on Worf and Deanna's account. Apparently, they
were still slowly building a relationship, though Will
hadn't heard any details--and he didn't want to hear
any details.
    But after the captain had reported his experience of
one possible future which led to a bitterly jealous feud
between Riker and Worf, Will had been determined to
change that future and regain his comfortable friendship
with the Klingon.
  He had succeeded. The awkwardness between them

83

had vanished, to the point where Riker now felt free to
thoroughly enjoy hazing the new lieutenant commander.
    He stepped toward Worf, still wearing his damp
breeches and linen shirt--and, of course, his naval
officer's hat with its soggy, drooping plume.
  "Set the royals and the studding sails, Mr. Worf."
    Worf turned and gazed at him blankly. "The
royal ... studs... ?"
    Riker grinned and pointed aloft. "Well, since you've
proven today that you're so good with heights... You
see the top yardarm? Now, look to the--"  "Bridge to Commander Riker."
    He broke off, turning immediately toward the direc-
tion the comm voice had emanated from. "Riker here."
    "We're picking up a distress call from the Amargosa
Observatory, sir. They say they're under attack."
    "Red alert!" Riker shouted. Crew members immedi.
ately began running past him toward the bow. "All
hands to battle stations! Captain Picard to the
bridge .... "

    On the bridge, Riker removed his plumed hat and
stared at a grim sight on the main viewscreen: the
battered, blackened remnants of the Amargosa Observa-
tory against the backdrop of a yellow sun. He shook his
head. "It looks like we're too late .... "
    Still in his damp linen shirt and breeches, Worf half
turned from his console. "There are no other ships in the
system."
    The lift doors slid open, and the captain entered--to
the veiled, curious stares of all those on the bridge. Only
Deanna, Riker noted from her concerned, sympathetic
expression, seemed to have a clue as to what was going

84

on with Picard. Whatever it was, it must have been
world-shattering, for the captain to arrive late on the
bridge during a red alert.
    Picard's expression, as he moved toward his chair,
was hard, utterly closed. To Riker's amazement, he did
not react to the sight on the viewscreen, did not ask to be
briefed. Awkwardly, the second-in-command cleared his
throat, then offered: "We're approaching Amargosa,
Captain. It looks like the observatory took quite a
beating."
 "Survivors?" Picard asked curtly.
    "Sensors show five life signs aboard the station, Cap-
tain," Data responded.
    "The station complement was nineteen," Riker said
heavily.
    Picard showed not a flicker of emotion, only rose
dismissively. "Stand down from red alert." He faced
Riker without meeting his eyes. "Number One, begin an
investigation. I'll be in my ready room." He turned and
moved away.
    Riker shot a quick glance at Deanna, whose startled
expression offered no explanation. "Sir?" Riker asked,
not trying to hide his amazement.
    Picard wheeled to face him, his tone and eyes flint-
cold. "Make it so."
  "But Captain, I thought you would--"
    "Do it," Picard said. He turned and exited the bridge
without a backward glance, leaving his crew to stare
after him.

 Amargosa smelled of fire and death.
    The smell was the first thing Will Riker perceived of
the observatory, even before his eyes refocused to see

85

 that the Enterprise transporter room had metamor-
 phosed into a smoldering ruin. It was the scent of things
 burning that were not meant to burn: metal, synthetic
 compounds, flesh.
    He narrowed his eyes at the sting of smoke and peered
through the filmy haze. Overhead, the dying remnants of
auxiliary lighting flickered, casting such feeble light that
most of the wreckage lay shrouded in shadow. Riker
lifted his palm beacon and swept a beam of light over
collapsed bulkheads, scorched consoles--then began to
pick his way carefully through the heavy debris, knowing
that somewhere in the darkness and rubble lay fourteen
dead. The away team--Crusher, Worf, Paskall, and
Mendez--followed in silence; speaking unnecessarily
seemed sacrilege, disrespectful of the tragedy that had
occurred here.
    The scent of destruction was fresh. The attack had
occurred, Riker guessed, only a handful of minutes
before. While he and his friends had been standing on
the quarterdeck of the H.M.S. Enterprise celebrating,
these people had been dying. He stopped suddenly to
squint at something small and dark protruding from
under a twisted metal beam: a bloodied hand. Beverly
immediately stepped forward and scanned it with her
tricorder, then shook her head and shared a disap-
pointed look with Will. The group moved on.
    Frowning at the scarred ruins, Worf broke the silence
at last. "These blast patterns are consistent with type-
three disruptors."
    Brutal weapons capable of burning through skin,
muscle, bone... "Well," Riker said with grim irony.
"That narrows it to Klingon, Breen, or Romulan."

86

    "I'm picking up life signs." Crusher's face and voice
grew suddenly hopeful, animated. "About twenty meters
ahead."
    "That would rule out Klingons," Worf said, and when
Riker gave him a curious look, added, "They woul'~, not
have left anyone alive."
    Beverly ignored them, moving purposefully into the
darkness. "Over here..."
    Riker followed, quickly sweeping his palm beacon
over wreckage until at last the doctor paused and knelt
beside a prone, still form. Without Crusher's tricotder,
Riker would have taken the man for dead; the back of his
Starfleet science officer's uniform had been almost en-
tirely burned away by a disruptor blast. He turned his
face from the smell of scorched flesh and fought to
contain a wave of hatred for whoever had committed
such an atrocity.
    Seemingly immune to any emotion except determina-
tion to save the man lying before her, Crusher opened
her medikit and began to work.
    Riker glanced up and gestured at the three men
standing nearby. "Worf, you're with me. Paskall, you
and Mendez search the upper deck."
    The two security guards moved off. Riker headed with
Worf down a dark corridor, following the ovals of light
cast by their palm beacons past more twisted, collapsed
bulkheads and battered consoles. At last, a wavering arc
of light played across something cylindrical emerging
from the shadows: fallen ventilation tubing, Riker
thought at first, until he saw the boot. Worf redirected
his beacon to reveal the fallen figure of a woman; beside
her lay a man. Both wore Starfleet blue.

87

                                               1
  While Worf provided light, Riker knelt quickly and
felt for pulses, then shook his head, wishing the darkness
had shielded him from the sight of the woman's staring
face, half of which had been seared away.
    At the sound of sudden banging from a distant corner,
he rose, and hurried in the direction of the noise.
    Worf directed his beam onto a collapsed bulkhead.
"Under here..."
    Together, both officers pulled aside the large sheet of
jagged metal covering the pile of debris, then began
tearing through the rubble. From beneath came stirring,
and the sounds of ragged breathing. Encouraged, Riker
and Worf dug faster, until at last a bloodied hand
appeared and began to flail as if desperately trying to
assist.
    "It is all right," Worf said, with a gentleness that made
Riker glance up in surprise, but not pause in his excavat-
ing. The Klingon clasped the thin, pale hand with his
own great, dark one. "Do not struggle."
    Where had he learned tenderness? Will wondered.
From Deanna? The thought caused a flicker of jealousy;
he repressed it firmly. If Worf had gotten something
good out of the relationship, then so much the better.
    Worf continued to hold the hand until Riker lifted and
shoved aside a crushed console to reveal the head and
torso of a pale-haired humanoid man. Worf released the
hand, which the man lifted, shaking, to his forehead. He
stared up at the two Starfleet officers with light, almost
colorless eyes that were dull with shock. He seemed to
Riker unwounded, although he had an old scar that ran
from the center of his forehead beneath one eye and
down his cheek.

88

"I'm Commander William Riker of the Starship En-
terprise."
    The man blinked, struggling to make sense of Riker's
words and his surroundings, to gather himself.
"Soran..." he whispered. "Dr. Tolian Soran..." His
eyes widened as he looked into the smoking ruins; a
flicker of intensemalmost insane, Riker thought~~
bitterness crossed his face before he lifted a hand to his
eyes.
    "Who attacked you, Doctor?" Riker asked with quiet
firmness. He did not turn at the sound of light footsteps
behind him, but watched with his peripheral vision as
Dr. Crusher hurried toward them.
    Soran lowered his hand and, with a disconsolate
sweeping glance at the destruction around him, shook
his head. "I'm not sure .... It happened so fast .... "
    Beverly directed a reassuring smile at the dazed scien-
tist and began to scan him with the tricorder. Riker
watched, trying to get a fix on Soran; there was some-
thing about the man that vaguely disturbed him. The
intensity in the eyes, perhaps, that verged on wildness; or
maybe that the man's apparent helplessness somehow
did not quite ring true.
    "Commander!" Paskall called down from the upper
level. "You'd better take a look at this!"
    Riker directed a glance at Worf; the two strode over to
the emergency ladder and crawled quickly to the upper
deck, where Paskall and Mendez knelt beside another
body. As Riker and Worf approached, Mendez held his
beacon so that the corpse's face was clearly visible.
    It was a young soldier, one who had apparently
accidentally died in the falling debris. His face was

89

bruised, smudged with smoke, but otherwise composed
in death; Riker felt no surprise, only a growing outrage at
the sight of the upswept eyebrows and ears, the ridged
forehead. He said nothing, but let Worf give their
common anger voice in a single low, disgusted growl:
 "Romulan..."

90

SEVEN

The minute he got Off duty, Geordi La Forge headed for
Data's quarters. He did so partly because he felt the
overboard incident with Dr. Crusher bore discussion--
and partly because being around Data usually cheered
him up. Amargosa had caused a strange pall to settle
over the day; it seemed unfair that the earlier celebration
could have been overshadowed so quickly by tragedy.
But then, death interrupting life never seemed fair.
    And it wasn't just Amargosa; something else bad had
happened, something to do with Captain Picard. Geordi
had been near the bow when the captain had retrieved
his personal message. He hadn't been able to see Picard's
facewnot until Troi had gone over to speak with him--
but even so, he had read shock in the sudden slump of
the captain's shoulders.
    Geordi paused in front of the door to Data's quarters
and pressed the chime. The door slid open; inside, Data
sat in a chair with Spot curled in his lap.
    "Geordi," the android said. "Please come in. I am
glad you are here. There are some questions I would like
to ask~"

91

    "--about the business with Dr. Crusher this after-
noon?" Geordi stepped over to his friend's side as the
door closed behind them.
    Data's pale golden face brightened. "Precisely. I am
determined to understand why her falling into the water
was not funny, whereas Commander Worf falling into
the water was."
    "Er, Data... I'm still not so sure I can explain it.
Humor's pretty elusive stuff...."
    Data frowned faintly as he stroked the cat, who closed
her eyes and purred drowsily. "Perhaps overt aggression
is the key. After all, I pushed Dr. Crusher to make her
fall, whereas Worf fell simply because the plank was
removed."
    Geordi shook his head. "Unh-unh. Humor can get
pretty aggressive sometimes. And you didn't push Dr.
Crusher hard enough to hurt her."
    "Oh." Data gazed up at his friend with puzzled,
golden eyes. "Is she still angry?"
    "No... But I'd stay out of sickbay for a while if
I were you." Geordi's lips curved upward in a slight
smile. "Whatever possessed you to push her in the
water?"
    "I was attempting to..." Data tilted his head, search-
ing for the right expression. "... get into the spirit of
things, as Dr. Crusher put it. I thought it would be
amusing." He frowned again, clearly troubled by his
inability to understand, then lifted Spot, who emitted a
displeased mew, and set her down.
    Geordi watched as the android moved over to a
bulkhead and activated a control panel. A small com-
partment slid open to reveal a tiny chip suspended in a
crystalline case. It was an emotion chip made to the

92

specifications of the android's creator, Noonien Soong.
Data had long ago indicated that he had no interest in
ever utilizing it; now he contemplated it with such
intense interest that Geordi moved closer, both curious
and apprehensive.
    "Data... are you thinking about actually using that
thing?"
    "I have considered it for many months." The android
focused his golden eyes back on Geordi. "And in light of
the incident with Dr. Crusher, I believe this may be the
appropriate time."
    Geordi frowned. "I thought you were afraid it would
overload your neural net."
    "That is true," Data replied. "However, I believe my
growth as an artificial life-form has reached an impasse.
For thirty-four years I have endeavored to become more
'human'--to grow beyond my original programming.
And yet I am still unable to grasp such a basic concept as
humor." He turned back toward the crystalline case.
"This emotion chip may be the only answer."
    Geordi leaned forward to dubiously study the chip,
then sighed. At worst, it could cause some annoying
complications, but no permanent damage. And what
right did he have to deny his friend such an experience?
"All right... but at the first sign of trouble, I'm going to
deactivate it. Agreed?"
    "Agreed." Data promptly sat down, offering himself
as willing subject, while Geordi moved behind him and
opened a panel on his cranium, revealing the blinking
circuitry within.
    "This won't take long..." Geordi said, finishing
silently to himself, I just hope we don't both regret it ....

93

    At the same time that Geordi was performing surgery
on his friend, Will Riker was standing in the captain's
ready room, briefing Picard on what the away team had
found at the Amargosa Observatory.
    Picard's odd, distant demeanor hadn't eased. Riker
wound up addressing the back of the captain's chair
while Picard, hands steepled, gazed out his window at
the stars.
    "We found two dead Romulans aboard the station,"
Riker finished up. "We're analyzing their equipment to
see if we can determine what ship they came from."
    Index fingers resting on his lips, Picard nodded ab-
sently, then lowered his hands and asked, "There's still
no indication of why they attacked the station?" His
tone was one of great weariness, as though it required
infinite effort for him to focus on the matter at hand.
    "They practically tore the place apart," Riker said,
mentally recoiling from the memories of charred bodies
and the smell of death. "Accessed the central computer,
turned the cargo bay inside out. They were obviously
looking for something."
    "Hmmm..." Picard fell silent and stared out the
window again, for so long that Riker began to shift his
weight nervously. And then the captain said lifelessly,
"Inform Starfleet Command. This could indicate a new
Romulan threat in this sector."
    Riker did not try to keep the amazement from his
voice. "You want me to contact Starfleet?"
    Picard straightened, swiveled a quarter-turn toward
his second-in-command. "Is there a problem?" he asked
softly.
    "No, sir," Riker said. At least, not with me.... But
something very serious was troubling the captain. What-

94

ever message he had received this morning from Earth
had been devastating.
    Picard continued wearily, "Thank you, Number
One," and swung back toward the window.
    Riker turned to go, then hesitated, awkward. "There is
something else, Captain. One of the scientists... a Dr.
Soran ... has insisted on speaking with you." Antici-
pating a protest, he hurried apologetically: "I told him
you were busy, sir, but he said it was absolutely impera-
tive that he speak with you right away."
    But no protest came; no reaction, in fact, except for
the captain's faint, toneless reply: "Understood. That
will be all."
    He was clearly eager to be alone, but Riker decided
against hiding his concern. Picard was a very private
man, and Riker doubted his question would be
answered--but he had to at least make the offer to help,
to listen. "Sir," he asked gently, "... is there anything
wrong?"
    "No." Picard's answer was soft, but it was a softness
that covered steel. "Thank you."
    Riker paused a moment, then surrendered, and left his
captain to his solitary grief.

    With a distinct sense of unease, Geordi entered Ten-
Forward, sticking close to Data's side. Maybe he was
overreacting, but he couldn't shake the sense of impend-
ing disaster, despite the fact that Data seemed to be
quite relaxed and enjoying himself. So far, the chip
seemed to be working perfectlymso well, in fact, that
the android had insisted on going to Ten-Forward for a
little test run.
 Nevertheless, Geordi kept his gaze glued on Data, who

95

was drinking in his surroundings with the wide-eyed
delight of a child, gazing with hopeful interest at the
bustling off-duty crowd, beaming faintly as someone at a
crowded table guffawed at a joke. Even the android's
movements seemed subtly altered--more graceful,
more fluid, more... human.
    The two stepped up to the bar. Almost immediately,
Guinan approached, and set a flask on the counter with a
determination that allowed no refusal.
    Her lips curved slyly into an upward crescent. "You
two just volunteered to be my first victims." She nodded
at the crystal flask, which held a dark liquid aswirl with
amber highlights. "This is a new concoction I picked up
on Forcas Three. Trust me, you're going to love it."
    She set two glasses on the counter and poured; Geordi
caught a whiff of potent spirits laced with something that
smelled like broccoli crossed with eucalyptus. He strug-
gled to keep his expression neutral, so as not to influence
Data, who lifted his glass, sniffed the contents, then took
a large swallow.
    Geordi watched intently as Data frowned down at the
glass in his hand. After several seconds, the engineer
prompted, "Well... ?"
    The android glanced up, still faintly frowning, his
expression one of puzzlement. "I believe the beverage
has provoked an emotional response." "Really? What do you feel?"
    Data lowered the glass, clearly trying to turn his focus
inward. "I..." He glanced up at Geordi with something
very near dismay. "I am uncertain. I have little experi-
ence with emotions. I am unable to articulate the
sensation."

    "Emotions?" Guinan leaned forward, elbows on the
counter, to direct an amazed glance at Geordi.
    The engineer cocked his head to one side in a gesture
that was almost an affirmation, all the while managing to
keep one eye focused on his charge. "I'll explain
later .... "
    He watched as Data threw his head back and took
another huge gulp--then set down the glass and curled
his bottom lip in pure disgust.
 Guinan turned to Geordi. "I think he hates it."
    "Yes!" Data leaned toward his friends, bright-eyed,
near breathless with excitement. "That is it. I hate it!"
    The android's enthusiasm was infectious; despite his
concern, Geordi felt a broad smile settle slowly over his
own features. "Data... I think the chip is working."
    As he spoke, Data rapidly drained his glass, then broke
into a huge, triumphant grin. "Yes. I hate this! It is
revolting!"
    Guinan permitted the two men a moment more of
celebration, then coyly lifted the flask, ready to pour
again. "Another round?" she asked sweetly.
    Aglow with happiness, Data held up his glass.
"Please."

    At that moment, Tolian Soran also sat in Ten-Forward,
but the crowd and his table's location blocked any view
of the bar; instead, he stared out an observation window
at the stars--thinking of one star in particular, the one
named Amargosa. "Bitter," the name meant in some
Terran language or other. The bitter star; oddly appro-
priate, it seemed now.
 Had he witnessed the exchange between the three

96                                                               97

friends, he would have sensed precisely what was
occurring--but he would not have laughed, would not
have wasted upon the incident even a faint smile. He
smiled at little these days; amusement did not interest
him.
    Only one thing mattered: his return to Leandra. Not
quite a century ago, he had used the Lakul to return to
her for a radiant, wondrous moment, only to be
snatched away again by the Enterprise-B. That other
world where she waited seemed real; the rest was all
illusion, an agonizing, decades-long detour too cruel to
be accepted as reality.
    Once more, he was on another damnable starship
called the Enterprise; but this one would not steal him
from Leandra. This Enterprise would return him to
her... if he had to kill every person aboard it.  It was, after all, not real.
    Yet, real or not, in this universe, Soran knew he would
have to use every bit of cunning here to return to the
place he thought of as home. And the first step required
manipulation of a certain starship captain.
    He sat for a few moments more until he saw him: a
uniformed man, lean and bald, with a lined, strongly
sculpted face. Soran recognized him at once; the man's
confident bearing marked him as captain of this vessel.
What was the name again? Something exotically Terran.
Picard. Jean-Luc Picard.
    Picard made his way through the laughing crowd with
single-minded intensity, and a closed expression that
gave Soran pause, for it reminded him much of his own.
What was it the captain was feeling? Soran's eyelids
fluttered as he relaxed, allowed himself to sense his prey.
 Yes. Yes... Offense. We two have much in common,

Soran said silently to the approaching human. You, like
I, are offended by what you see here: people smiling,
talking, laughing, enjoying themselves, oblivious to our
suffering. Oblivious to pain, to the horror that this uni-
verse truly is. But they will come to know; oh yes, they will
all come to know death--their own, and those of the ones
they love. No one escapes here.
But I will. By the gods, I will, and never return...
Picard arrived at the table at last, and, intent, un-
flinching, unsmiling, gazed down at the El Aurian. "Dr.
Soran... ?"
    Soran looked up, his eyes, his gaze, his demeanor a
stern mirror-image of the Starfleet officer's. "Yes, yes,
Captain .... Thank you for coming." He extended his
hand. Picard took it; firm grip, strong determination.
Not an easy man to manipulate--or to read, for that
matter. But there was fresh pain here, and if Soran was
patient, there would soon be details that would help
persuade the captain ....
    Picard sat in the chair across from Soran, and waved
away the waiter who had hurried up to take his order.
"Nothing for me." All brusqueness, he turned to Soran.
"I understand there's something urgent you need to
discuss with me."
    "Yes." Soran fixed his gaze on the captain's dark eyes.
"I need to return to the observatory immediately. I must
continue a critical experiment I was running on the
Amargosa star."
    A flicker of irritation crossed Picard's features. Soran
knew exactly how it must have sounded: the eccentric
scientist consumed by his work, interrupting the captain
at an inopportune moment. "Doctor," Picard said, with
a hint of impatience, "we're still conducting an investi-

98                                              99

gation into the attack. Once we've completed our work,
we'll be happy to allow you and your fellow scientists
back aboard the observatory. Until then--"
    Soran let some honest desperation slip into his tone.
"The timing is very important on my experiment. If it is
not completed within the next twelve hours, years of
research will be lost." And if he did not manage to
convince the captain soon, it seemed their conversation
would come to a premature conclusion, before Soran
could find the key, the precise words needed. Oh yes,
there was definitely something here. Horrible pain.
Agony. Grief...
    But Picard was already moving to rise; with a curt,
dismissive tone, he said, "We're doing the best we can.
Now, if you'll excuse me..."
    And there it was: the flames, two people screaming,
dying in such abject misery that Soran drew in his
breath, shuddered at the memory of his own long-ago
pain. So... we have more in common than I thought,
you and I.... And with desperation tempered by genu-
ine empathy, he reached out and gently, firmly, grasped
the captain's arm.
    Picard wheeled, outraged--then was stunned to si-
lence by the knowing intensity in Soran's eyes. Soran
leaned forward until Picard's face filled his entire field of
vision.
    "They say time is the fire in which we burn," he said
softly. "And right now, Captain, my time is running
out."
    Yes. He had sensed rightly. There it was again: the
flames, the screams, the horror. Picard dropped his gaze,
unable to meet the other man's eyes.
  Soran released his grip on the captain's arm. No need

1oo

now; his words held Picard more tightly than his hands
ever could. His features softened with unfeigned sympa-
thy as he looked deep into the Starfleet officer's eyes,
thinking of the Borg's death rays dissecting a malachite
planet. How many nights had he lain awake imagining
that final horror for Leandra, Mara, Emo, as the fiery
rays streaked down from the El Aurian heavens?
    You see, I too know what it is to smell the flesh of my
loved ones burning ....
    "We leave so many things unfinished in our lives,"
Soran continued. "I'm sure you can understand."
    Picard looked away and was silent for a long moment;
when finally he spoke, his voice was barely above a
whisper. "I'll see what I can do .... "
    Without a word, he turned on his heel and left before
the El Aurian could reply. Soran watched with relief and
triumph; he had won. He rose, then carefully pulled out
the antique pocket watch Leandra had given him, a
name-day present in recognition of his fascination with
temporal physics. For a moment, he stared into its
gilded, crystal-clad face and saw reflected there his own.
    He had come to both treasure and despise Leandra's
final gift to him--treasure it because it was all he had
left of her, outside the nexus; despise it because it served
as constant reminder of time's cruelty. In the end, time
annihilated all; what was the brutally apt Terran meta-
phor? Cronos, eating his children...
    Time was his enemy, now; the only solution was to
sidestep it altogether, in the nexus. And, cruelest joke of
all, he had only twelve hours in which to do so.
    Soran moved toward the exit--then froze at the sight
of a familiar face across the room, behind the bar.
Guinan. She had been among the refugees on the

101

Lakul the day they had encountered the Enterprise-B
ú.. and flirted with the nexusú And if she recognized
Soran, she would at once sense his true intentions...
and tell the captain.
    Luckily she was distracted, smiling and talking with
two crewmen; she had not seen him, and Soran was
determined to leave before she sensed his presence. He
wheeled about and, using the crowd as a shield, slipped
out the far exit.

    "So," Guinan said. She bent slightly to retrieve a
dust-covered flagon from beneath the counter, then
straightened and allowed herself a small smile at Data's
comical expression, which managed to convey both
disgust and delight. "Now that you've got hate covered,
let's see if we can work on love. Aged Saurian brandy;
not quite as old as I am, but a close second. Just a little
taste, boys; this isn't synthehol, you know."
    Geordi had finally relaxed enough to smile and peer at
the label. "That looks like the real thing, all right." He
drew back slightly as Guinan blew off the dust and then
began uncorking the bottle. "Data, you should test emo-
tion chips more often. Looks like we're in for a treat."
    Grinning, the android proffered his empty glass;
Guinan began to pour. At the same instant, Geordi's
comm badge signaled; he set down his own glass and
touched his insignia. "La Forge here."
 "Commander Worf here. Is Data with you?"
 "Yes."
    "Commander Riker requests both of you report to the
transporter room immediately. I will meet you there.
Worf out."
 Geordi released a glum sigh. "C'mon, Data. Let's go."

Data set down his glass and frowned. "I believe I am
having another emotional reaction."
    "It's called disappointment, Data." Guinan favored
him with a grin as she recorked the brandy. "You'll get
over it. Don't worry, this'11 still be here when you two get
back."
    "Thanks, Guinan." Geordi waited for his now-
despondent friend to rise; the two headed out into the
corridor.
    Guinan was watching them go when a dizzying flash of
memory overtook her. Suddenly she was in the
Enterprise-B sickbay almost a century before, in a twi-
light world between reality and the nexus, looking up
into the dark eyes of a man she later learned was Pavel
Chekov and saying, He g gone to the other side. Your
friend, Jim ....
    The ugliness of reality--her world, her family, her life
destroyed in one brutal moment by the Borg--and the
unspeakable beauty of the nexus had overwhelmed her
then...
    She tried to shake the memory off. She had not
thought of the nexus--had not permitted herself to think
of the nexus--for many years. But why... ?
    Even before she could silently ask herself the question,
she knew the answer: Someone was here. Someone who
had been there that night; someone who had been to the
nexus.
    She whirled to face the precise spot in which she knew
the person was standing.
    No one. Empty carpet. Someone called her name; she
gave her head a gentle shake, then turned, smiling, the
memory once again submerged.

102                                                                 103

    Moments earlier, in engineering, Will Riker stood
beside Worf and stared at the diagram of sensor infor-
mation on the monitor screen. On the console beside
them, a Romulan tricorder lay attached to a diagnostic
scanner.
    Riker frowned at the screen and tried to make sense of
the readout; he was having far better luck with it than he
was in making sense out of the attack on Amargosa.
    "One of the dead Romulans had a tricorder," Worf
was explaining. "We analyzed its sensor logs and found
they were scanning for signature particles of a com-
pound called trilithium."
  Riker lifted an eyebrow. "Trilithium?"
    Worf gave a single, solemn nod. "An experimental
compound the Romulans have been working on. In
theory, a trilithium-based explosive would be thousands
of times more powerful than an antimatter weapon. But
they never found a way to stabilize it."
    Let's hope that's still true, Riker thought. Aloud he
asked, "Why were they looking for it on a Federation
observatory? It doesn't make any sense."
    Worf did not answer. Riker paused, still looking at the
readout on the screen but seeing the dead on Amargosa.
The terrible destruction might not make any sense, but it
had happened for a reason--a reason that perhaps the
survivors knew, but weren't telling.
    He released a silent sigh and glanced at the Klingon.
"Have Geordi and Data go over with the next away
team. Tell them to scan the observatory for trilithium."

    It was just as well they hadn't had time for that sip of
Saurian brandy, Geordi decided, as he scanned the

104

interior of the observatory operations room; as much as
he had enjoyed his time with Data in Ten-Forward, he
wouldn't want to beam down into a place like Amargosa
with anything but a totally clear head.
    Only the auxiliary lights were functional--just bright
enough to allow humans to see, dim enough to give a
gloomy, twilight effect. That, combined with the
scorched ruins and utter silence, made for a decidedly
eerie atmosphere, Geordi decided; or maybe it was just
the fact that he knew people had died here. It was sad to
see their years of work carelessly scattered, to see
consoles bashed in, monitors blasted. He worked with
the same hushed reverence he felt visiting graveyards.
    Data, on the other hand, seemed unsettlingly cheerful,
still glowing with enthusiasm for his new internal world;
he smiled faintly to himself as he scanned the other side
of ops with his tricorder.
 Geordi peered at the tricorder readout and shook his
head. "There's no sign of any trilithium in here ....I
can't imagine why the Romulans were looking for it."
    He scanned quietly for a moment longer, until Data
released a soft giggle. He turned to look at his friend in
perplexed amazement.
    Data continued to laugh softly to himself. "I get it. I
get it."
    Geordi frowned; it didn't seem right to be laughing
where people had so recently been murdered--but he
tried not to let his irritation show. After all, Data had
never before experienced fear of death, and could accept
it more matter-of-factly than a human. And maybe since
he wasn't used to having emotions, he wasn't that good
at suppressing them, either.

105

 "You get what?" he asked the android.
    Data erupted in laughter again, then finally controlled
himself enough to gasp out, "When you said to Com-
mander Riker"--and he perfectly mimicked Geordi's
voice--" 'The clown can stay, but the Ferengi in the
gorilla suit has to go.'"
 Geordi stared blankly at him. "What?"
    "During the Farpoint mission. We were on the bridge
and you told a joke. That was the punch line."
    "The Farpoint mission? Data, that was seven years
ago."
    "I know. I just got it." The android began giggling
again. "It was very funny."
    Geordi shot him a dubious glance before turning
away. "Thanks..."
    He headed down a short corridor that connected the
main operations room with several compartments; Data
followed, still chuckling softly.
    Geordi stopped abruptly in front of what appeared to
be a standard bulkhead. He turned excitedly to Data.
"Wait a minute. There's a hidden doorway here. I can
see the joint of the metal with my VISOR." He ran his
finger in a vertical line over the deceptively smooth
metal.
    Data stepped beside him and scanned the section with
his tricorder, then frowned at the readout. "There
appears to be a dampening field in operation. I cannot
scan beyond the bulkhead."
    Geordi slung his tricorder over his shoulder and
pressed his hands against the metal, trying to coax it
open. "I don't see a control panel... or an access port."
 "It appears to be magnetically sealed." Data put his

106

own tricorder away, then peeled back the pale golden
flesh on his wrist to reveal flashing circuitry. As he spoke,
he made a deft adjustment. "I believe I can reverse the
polarity by attenuating my axial servo."
    He finished his task, then waved his exposed circuitry
over the bulkhead panel. "Open sesame."
    From within the panel came a hum, followed by a loud
click. The door slid open; Data turned toward his friend
with a smug grin. "You could say I have a... magnetic
personality."
    I've created a monster, Geordi thought, but restricted
himself to a grimace. Maybe if he ignored the android's
annoying attempts at humor, they would pass. He
moved quickly into the small room, which housed
several probes stacked in holding racks, and began again
to scan.
    Almost immediately, he realized that they were very
close to discovering the reason for the attack and turned
to Data. "I'm still not picking up anything. Someone
went to a lot of trouble to shield this room."
    He put his tricorder away and moved over to the
probes, ignoring Data, who was still snickering at the
accumulated punch lines of a lifetime. One probe in
particular--smooth and dark as polished onyx, the size
of a burial tube--caught Geordi's attention.
    "Data, take a look at this." He glanced over his
shoulder at the android, who hurried over. "You ever
seen a solar probe with this kind of configuration?"
    Grinning maniacally, Data held his tricorder toward
Geordi like a puppet, then opened and closed it rapidly,
like a ventriloquist making a mannequin speak. "'No,
Geordi, I have not.'" He then turned the tricorder

107

toward himself, as though it were addressing him:
"'Have you?'" He shook his head solemnly, answering
his makeshift puppet. "No, I have not. It is most
unusual."
    He burst into high-pitched laughter; Geordi felt his
own expression harden. That~ it, Data; the minute I get
you back on the Enterprise, that chip ~ coming out ....
"Just help me get this panel open," he said shortly.
    Data controlled himself long enough to comply. Soon
the panel swung open.
    "Whoa!" Geordi recoiled. "My VISOR's picking up
something in the theta band. It could be a trilithium
signature .... "
  Data erupted into giggles.
    This time, Geordi made no attempt to hide his
irritation. "Data, this isn't the time--"
    "I am sorry," Data gasped between peals of laughter;
his eyes were wide with alarm. "But I cannot stop
myself. I think something is wrong .... "
    His laughter soon escalated to full-blown hysteria. As
Geordi watched, helpless, the android's limbs began to
tremble and jerk, as if he were having a seizure. A rapid
cascade of emotions convulsed his features: anger, joy,
passion, terror, hate, longing, in such rapid succession
that to Geordi they were a blur.
    He ran to his friend's side just as Data collapsed.
"Data!" He knelt beside the android and put a hand on
his shoulder. "Data, are you all right?"
    Data's eyes flew open, then focused on Geordi, who
helped the blinking android sit up.
    "I believe the emotional chip has overloaded my
positronic relays," he said with mild but distinct sur-
prise.

    "We'd better get you back to the ship." Geordi hit his
comm badge. "La Forge to Enterprise."
    No response. Geordi frowned for a split second, then
realized--the dampening field, of course. But before he
could react, a voice spoke softly:
 "Is there a problem, gentlemen?"
    He turned to see one of the observatory scientists--a
thin, pale-haired civilian dressed in black--standing in
the doorway. The sight startled him for a fleeting instant;
the observatory had been so silent, he'd assumed no one
had yet returned. Recovering, he said, "Oh... Doctor.
Yeah, as a matter of fact, there is. There's a dampening
field in here blocking our comm signal." He nodded at
Data, still sitting on the floor. "Will you give me a
hand?"
The scientist stepped toward them. "I'd be happy to."
He said it kindly enough that Geordi took no alarm--
not until the last second, when he saw the scientist glance
swiftly at the partially dismantled probe, saw the distress
cross the pale man's features, saw the phaser held by the
man's side.
    By then it was too late. Geordi tensed, thought to
make a move for the phaser; it did not occur to him to
shield himself from the man's other hand. The fist
caught his cheek and jaw with a resounding dull thud
and sent the VISOR hurtling. There was a millisecond
burst of unbearably brilliant color, then darkness--a
darkness that deepened the instant his head struck the
floor.

108                                                                  109

EIGHT

Picard sat at the desk in his quarters and stared down at
the holo in the open album before him. In the back-
ground, classical music played softly; at his elbow, a cup
of tea sat cooling. But the music remained unheard, the
tea undrunk; he could focus on nothing save the picture
before his eyes, a scene from happier times: the Picards
mRen6, Robert, Marie--at their family estate. Robert
had presented it to him a few years ago, when he was
visiting the vineyard.
    Picard gently laid fingertips against a corner of the
holo, as if to capture the moment pictured there. There
was his shyly grinning nephew, Ren6, flanked by his
mother and father. Ren6 would be some four years older
now--taller, with a deeper voice, but the same cap of
golden brown hair falling in a straight fringe above the
same bright, intelligent eyes full of promise. Picard
remembered the moment of their first meeting, on the
family estate. He had teased the boy, but only to hide his
own amazement, for he had looked on Ren6 and seen
himself. He'd seen, too, the gleam of admiration in the

110

boy's eyes, and realized self-consciously that Ren6
looked up to his uncle Jean-Luc as a hero.
    Marie had later confessed that Ren6 wanted nothing
better than to follow in his uncle's footsteps, to become a
starship captain. There she stood beside her son, golden-
haired, graceful, and warm, the perfect counterpoint to
her husband.
    Robert stood, glowering and stiff as ever, chin tucked
in, eyes narrowed and gleaming with faint disapproval at
the world... and secret pride for his son. Dressed like a
modern French peasant; always the traditionalist, Rob-
ert. A faint, fond smile played at the corners of Picard's
lips. Always the conservative, who predictably raised a
great hue and cry when he discovered his son's interest
in Starfleet. Always grudging, always stodgy. Always.
Always...
  Time is the fire in which we burn
 It was as if Soran had known.
    Picard squeezed his eyes shut at the words, trying to
blot out the mental image they evoked: Ren6, Robert,
screaming in final agony as flames consumed them.
What had it been like in those terrible, final seconds
before death? What had it been like for Robert, to see his
only son burned alive, to know that they would never
escape? Or had he perished first, leaving Ren6 to suffer
the final torment... ?
 Stop.
 Stop.
    He could not be sure it had happened that way;
perhaps they were unconscious, overwhelmed by smoke.
Perhaps there had been no pain. He knew nothing of the
details and most likely never would. He knew nothing,

111

only what was contained in the blunt message from
Marie:
     Robert and Rend killed in fire. Memorial service
 Wednesday. Will understand if you can't attend.
    What personal hell was she dwelling in now? She had
clearly not trusted herself to send a visual or even a voice
message. Picard felt a surge of guilt. He should be there
now to comfort her--but duty did not permit it.
Amargosa had intervened.
    Yet in the hours since he had first received the news, he
had found himself unable to fulfill that duty, turning
everything over to Riker.
    Correction: He had found himself unable to do any-
thing save look upon the faces of the dead, who gazed
back from the safety of the past. He had been too
stunned even to weep.
    He glanced up at the soft sound of the door chime, and
realized suddenly that he was hearing it for the second
time. He drew in a breath and composed his features.
"Come."
    The door opened; Deanna Troi stepped inside. Her
movements were tentative, restrained; her black eyes
somber, though she smiled faintly in greeting. She knew,
of course; Picard had no doubt. Not details, but she
knew. Nevertheless, he played the game.
    "Counselor." He tried, but was not quite able to
return Troi's smile. "What can I do for you?"
    "Actually..." She tilted her head to one side, dark
hair sweeping over one shoulder. "I'm here to see if
there's anything I can do for you. You've seemed a
little..." She paused, searching for the most tactful
word. "... distracted lately."

    "Oh," Picard said, feigning casualness. He could not
bring himself to simply blurt it out; it would have
seemed somehow disrespectful to Robert and Ren~.
"Just... family matters." For a moment, he struggled
with the impulse to ask her to leave, to insist on privacy.
But she was right; he could not keep his grief to himself
forever. At some point, he would have to admit to others
what had happened. He glanced down at the holo album.
"You've never met my brother and his wife, have you?"
    "No." Troi moved over beside him to peer over his
shoulder at the album. She kept a respectful distance,
still careful not to push, not to intrude before Picard was
ready.
    He continued, unable to keep the irony and affection
from his voice as he stared down at the image of his
brother. "Robert can be quite impossible .... Pompous,
arrogant, always has to have the last word. But he's
mellowed somewhat in his later years." He hesitated,
realizing that he was speaking as though Robert were
still alive; yet he could not bring himself to stop. "I was
planning to spend some time on Earth next month. I
thought we could all go to San Francisco. Ren6's always
wanted to see Starfleet Academy."
    Troi leaned forward to get a closer look. "Ren6? Your
nephew?"
    Picard nodded, knowing she could sense the bright
glimmer of pain the image of the boy provoked; yet
despite his grief, he could not help smiling fondly at the
sight of the boy's face. "Yes. He's so... unlike his
father. Imaginative, a dreamer. He almost reminds me
of myself at that age."
  He laughed softly, but there was no joy in the sound.

112                                                                113

Troi faced him and asked softly, "Captain... what's
happened?"
    He tried to look away, tried to gather himself, but the
empathy in her dark eyes compelled him to hold her gaze
and answer. "Robert," he whispered. "And Ren6.
They're dead. They were burned to death in a fire."
    She drew back, lips parted in shock and sorrow.
Picard rose and moved toward the observation window
to look out at the stars.
  "I'm so sorry," she said at last.
    "It's all right," he said tightly, clasping his hands
behind him. "These things happen. We all have
our... time. And theirs had come." It sounded like
nonsense to his own ears; pointless, hollow. Meaning-
less. Troi would have none of it.
    "No it's not all right." She moved slowly toward him.
"And the sooner you realize that, the sooner you can
begin to come to terms with what's happened .... "
    "I know that," Picard said shortly, then caught him-
self and softened his tone. "But... right now, it's not
me I'm concerned with. It's my nephew." He half turned
toward her, his voice full of sudden intensity. "I just
can't stop thinking about him--about all the experi-
ences he'll never have. Going to the Academy. Falling in
love. Children of his own. It's all... gone."
 "I had no idea he meant so much to you."
    Picard gave a grim nod. "In a way, he was as close as I
ever came to having a child of my own."
    She moved away from him then, toward the open
album on the desk, and began to flip through the pages of
pictures. After a time, she glanced up. "Your family
history is very important to you, isn't it?"

114

    Picard stepped beside her to stare down at the pic-
tures. "Ever since I was a little boy, I remember hearing
about the family line. The Picards that fought at
Trafalgar... the Picards that settled the first Martian
colony. When my brother married and had a son--" He
broke off, overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow.
    Troi finished gently for him. "... You felt it was no
longer your responsibility to carry on the family line."
    He released a great, silent sigh, and, in lieu of a nod,
let his chin sink to his chest and remain there. "My
brother had shouldered that burden, allowing me to
pursue my own selfish needs."
    Her tone became firm. "There's nothing selfish about
pursuing your own life, your own career."
    He did not answer, but turned again toward the
observation window to gaze at the stars beyond. He
agreed with her; yet he could not help feeling that he had
been wrong, to think that career was everything there
was to life. His career was bound to end--but loving and
caring for those close to him would endure. He had
always known he would retire to the family estate, and
he had hoped that Robert and Ren~--and Ren6's
children--would be there.
    At last he said, "You know, Counselor... for some
time now, I've been aware that there are fewer clays
ahead than there are behind. But I always took comfort
in the fact that, when I was gone, my family would
continue. But now..." He moved over to the album,
and opened it to the final pages: blank, all blank.
    Mindless, bitter rage swept over him. He picked up the
cup of undrunk tea and hurled it across the room; cold
Earl Grey spattered across the desk, across the album,

115

releasing the faint fragrance of bergamot. The cup
thudded, unbroken, against soft carpet. He stared back
at Deanna Troi. "But now... the idea of death has a
terrible sense of finality to it. There'll be no more
Picards."
    His outburst had startled him; but not, apparently, the
counselor. Her gaze was steady, sympathetic. "Captain,
perhaps we--"
    She never finished, but threw up an arm to shield her
eyes from the brilliant flare of light that flooded the
room. Picard raised his own arm as he rushed toward the
window, trying to see what had happened, but the glare
was too intense, too blinding. He closed his eyes, still
dazzled, as Riker's voice came on the intercom:
    "Senior officers report to the bridge! All hands to duty
stations!"

    The disaster left Picard no choice: by the time he and
Troi stepped from the lift onto the bridge, he had
emerged from his grief. He stepped beside Riker and
followed his second-in-command's gaze to the main
screen, where the star called Amargosa was dying. To
Picard's eyes, it looked as though the sun were being
consumed by fire. The core was rapidly dimming, grow-
ing black as charred remains; the corona flared as it
ejected flaming debris into space. "Report," Picard said.
    Riker turned his face toward the captain while keeping
an eye on the screen; Picard caught the look of concern
in his eye and ignored it. "A quantum implosion has
occurred within the Amargosa star," Riker responded.
"All nuclear fusion is breaking down."

    Picard stared at the screen in wonder. He knew what
stars were capable of; had watched one go supernova
with his own eyes--from a safe distance, of course. But
he had never seen this. "How is that possible?"
    From his station, Worf answered. "Sensor records
show the observatory launched a solar probe into the sun
a few moments ago."
    Picard frowned. The observatory... But there was
no one there except for the away team... and Dr.
Soran, he recalled with a chill, who had recently been
given permission to return and complete his work.
  Time is the fire in which we burn
    Riker nodded. "The star's going to collapse in a
matter of minutes." He turned as a sensor on Worf's
console beepeal ominously.
    The Klingon looked up at the two senior officers, his
eyes wide with concern. "Sir. The implosion has pro-
duced a level-twelve shock wave."
    Picard said nothing, merely digested the news in
stunned silence and shared an ominous look with Riker.
    "Level twelve?" Troi asked, aghast. "That'll destroy
everything in this system."
    A voice filtered over the intercom. "Transporter room
to bridge. I can't locate Commander La Forge or Mr.
Data, sir."
    Riker set a hand on Worf's console and leaned next to
the seated Klingon. "Did they return to the ship?"
    Worf ran a quick scan of the decks, then shook his
head. "No, sir. They are not aboard."
    Picard stepped beside them. "How long until the
shock wave hits the observatory?"
 "Four minutes, forty seconds," Worf reported.

116                                                                  117

    Picard raised his face and shot Riker a 1ook--a look,
nothing more, but the first officer knew his captain well
enough to read the order there. He gave a quick nod,
then rose and headed toward the turbolift, pausing to
call over his shoulder, "Mr. Worf..."
    Then the two of them were gone. Picard stepped
forward to gaze at the horrendous sight on the
viewscreen, thinking again of fire and death, and the
pale-haired scientist with the desperate eyes.

    The smoky haze and smell of fire were gone, courtesy
of the observatory's air-filtration system, but the gloom
and silence had increasedmor perhaps, Riker decided,
it was simply the fact that he knew that, outside the
observatory walls, the Amargosa star had collapsed into
darkness. He turned to Worf and silently gestured for the
Klingon to search the upper level of the main operations
room, while he scoured the lower.
    Within seconds, Worf returned, shaking his head: No
sign. There was only one direction left to go in--a
corridor that led to several separate cells. Riker wasted
no time making his way down it, then paused at the
closed doorways in front of him. One was recessed
behind a bulkhead panel that had been slid back--a
hidden entrance. Riker turned, nudged Worf, who fol-
lowed close behind. "This one."
    In the instant after the door opened, Riker got a brief
impressionrathe stark contrast of light and dark, a
spike-straight tuft of silver hair, white skin against a
black tunic. In front of a rack of probes, a man sat at a
console; the man he had uncovered from the rubble, the
one named Tolian Soran. Soran's expression was no

118

longer dazed, but as intense as the solar flares he
watched on his monitor.
    Riker opened his mouth, but never got the chance to
speak. Soran whirled. Some atavistic instinct propelled
Riker backward into the corridor and behind the bulk-
head in the split-second before Soran fired the disruptor
in his hand; the blast gouged a smoking groove into the
metal doorway.
    He raised his head and looked over to see Worf
crouched against the bulkhead on the other side of the
doorway; the Klingon had a better view of the room's
interior. "What the hell's he doing?" Riker called softly.
    Worf cautiously rose to peer into the room; another
disruptor blast, this one going clean out into the corridor
and burning a hole in the bulkhead, made him sink
swiftly down again. "Lieutenant La Forge is uncon-
scious," the Klingon whispered. "I cannot see Com-
mander Data."
    "Enterprise to Commander Riker." Picard's voice
filtered clearly over Riker's comm badge. "You have two
minutes left."
    "Soran, did you hear that?" Riker shouted. "There's a
level-twelve shock wave coming. We've got to get out of
here!"
    In reply, a disruptor blast angled through the open
door, glancing off the doorway and searing the deck at
Riker's feet. He pressed closer against the wall and
grabbed his phaser--but it was no use; he could not get
at the proper angle to get a clean shot at the scientist.
Soran had the advantage. Riker glanced around in
frustration, looking for a better hiding place... and
suddenly noticed a figure huddled in the corner of the
room.

119

"Data!" he called, sotto voce. "See if you can get to
Geordi!"
    The android looked up, golden eyes wide with terror.
"I... cannot, sir. I believe I am... afraid."
    Riker stared at him, at a loss, then tensed as, inside the
room, a communicator beeped shrilly. At the sound,
Soran leaned down to scoop up the unconscious Geordi
by the collar. Riker heard the hum of a transporter beam
and watched in surprise and frustration as the two
dematerialized.
    He hit his comm badge and said, with a sense of
defeat, "Transporter room. Three to beam up."

    A minute earlier on the Enterprise bridge, Picard was
drawn away from the sight on the viewscreen--a dark,
roiling shock wave, headed straight for the Amargosa
Observatoryruby the sound of an alarm on the tactical
console. He faced Hayes just as the young ensign was
swiveling toward him.
    "Sir." Hayes's eyes were wide, his tone urgent. "A
Klingon Bird-of-Prey is decloaking off the port bow."
    "What?" Picard wheeled back toward the screen, to
stare at the dying star--just as the Bird-of-Prey wavered
into view on the observatory's far side.
"It's an old Class D-twelve, sir," Hayes said.
"Those were retired a decade or so ago," Picard
murmured. This particular one looked like it should
have stood down two decades earlier; the hull bore a
hundred different hastily patched battle scars. To Hayes,
he said, "Have they activated their weapons systems?"
  "No, sir."
 "Then let's--" Picard began.

120

    "Transporter room to bridge. I have the away team
aboard, sir."
    Wasting no time, Picard turned to the con. "Helm,
warp one. Engage .... "
    The Enterprise sailed away as, on the viewscreen, the
observatory dissolved into rapidly dimming flame.

    Fueled by nova-bright rage, Soran made his way
through dark, claustrophobic corridors, ducking to
avoid overhanging cables, recoiling at the grime-
smeared bulkheads, the sticky deck. The aging ship
groaned and shuddered unceasingly--and stunk of
warm, wet animal, making him long for the pristine,
silent corridors of the Enterprise.
    No matter. None of it mattered, none of it was
real--at least, not to him--and the unpleasantness with
the Duras sisters would soon be over, and forgotten
eternally.
    He emerged at last onto the dimly lit bridge, and at the
sight of Klingons turning to regard him, his upper lip
twitched faintly. They smelled the same as the ship; and
though Soran had always believed himself an unpreju-
diced man, this particular species tested his limits. He
strode past the all-male bridge crew--he was not a small
man, but they dwarfed him--and paused before the two
women in the command seats, who stared in amazement
at the dead star on the screen.
    The younger of them, B'Etor, rose to face him, her
dark waving hair sweeping down over leather-clad
breasts, her hideous features lit up by a leer that revealed
protruding, jagged teeth. "You've done it, Soran!"
 He leaned forward and struck out, full force, catching

121

her squarely in the jaw. She flailed, fell back against the
console; immediately, several of the males leapt to their
feet, disruptors in their fists.
    "Wait!" WEtor waved an arm as she rose unsteadily to
one knee; an El Aurian woman, Soran knew, would
never have gotten up from that punch. She touched the
back of a hand to her mouth, frowned at the violet stain
there, then glanced up at Soran.
    "I hope for your sake that you are initiating a mating
ritual." The edge in her tone was dagger-keen, danger-
ous.
    Soran stood, utterly unafraid of the disruptors still
pointed at him, disgusted by the thought of intimacy
with this female, this... primate, clad in metal and
skins and drunk with territorial power. Even if he did
not completely possess the upper hand, he could not fear
these creatures, could not fear death. Annihilation,
simple nonexistence, did not frighten him; but life
without hope of the nexus, of Leandra and the children,
seemed unbearable. To be this close, this close, and be
denied it...
    "You got careless," he said harshly. "The Romulans
came looking for their missing trilithium."
    WEtor pushed herself to her feet. "Impossible. We left
no survivors on their outpost."
    "They knew it was aboard the observatory," Soran
countered. "If the Enterprise hadn't intervened, they
would have found it."
    The older sister stepped over to B'Etor's side. "But
they didn't find it ... and now we have a weapon of
unlimited power." Her voice was calmer, deeper than
her sister's, her manner more reserved--but she could
be, Soran knew, just as treacherous.

    His lips thinned. "I have the weapon, Lursa. And if
you ever want me to give it to you, I advise you to be a
little more careful in the future."
    The last word had scarcely left his lips when B'Etor
suddenly sprang toward him and secured his hands with
surprising strength. An evil smile played on her lips as
she lifted a double-edged Klingon dagger to his throat.
"Perhaps we are tired of waiting," she hissed. Soran did
not quiver, did not so much as flinch as the cool metal
pressed into the tender skin of his neck, slid over his
Adam's apple.
    "Without my research," he said coolly, "the trilithium
is worthless--as are your plans to reconquer the
Klingon Empire."
    B'Etor's lip curled with disappointment; Lursa
reached out and patiently pushed the dagger's blade
away from the scientist's throat.
    Soran repressed a smile of triumph. "Set course for
the Veridian system," he ordered the two women. "Max-
imum warp."
    B'Etor said nothing, only narrowed her eyes with
resentment; the implacable Lursa turned toward the
helm, and issued a guttural command.
    Soran had turned, thinking to head for his cramped,
uncomfortable quarters, when a guard entered, dragging
the unconscious Starfleet officer kidnapped from the
observatory. The guard nodded at the human's sagging
body. "What shall I do with this?"
    "Bring him with me," Soran said. "I need some
answers from Mr. La Forge."

    At that moment, Will Riker was thinking of Geordi La
Forge as he headed with Worf for sickbay. Clearly, Soran

122                                                                   123

had committed the kidnapping with some purpose in
mind--otherwise, he would have beamed away alone.
But why? And why beam aboard a Klingon ship? The
captain had informed him about the rattletrap of a
Bird-of-Prey during the debriefing. For that matter, why
destroy a star? The more Riker considered all the pieces
to the Amargosa puzzle, the less sense they made.
    Worf interrupted his reverie. "I have spoken to the
Klingon High Council, sir. They identified the Bird-of-
Prey as belonging to the Duras sisters."
    Riker drew back, then shook his head with amaze-
ment. "Lursa and B'Etor? This doesn't make any sense.
A renowned stellar physicist somehow uses a trilithium
probe to destroy a star... kidnaps Geordi... and es-
capes with a pair of Klingon renegades. Why? What the
hell's going on?"
Worf emitted a silent sigh. "I do not know, sir."
They rounded a corner and entered sickbay, where
Crusher was just closing a panel at the back of Data's
skull. The android was sitting on a biobed, scanning
himself with a tricorder.
 Riker caught Bevefiy's gaze. "How is he?"
    She swept an errant strand of auburn hair from her
face, which wore a serious--but fortunately, Riker knew
from past experience, not grim--expression. "It looks
like a power surge fused the emotional chip into his
neural net."
    Worf studied the android somberly. "Will that be a
danger to him?"
    She shook her head. "I don't think so; the chip still
seems to be working." She sighed with dissatisfaction
and folded her arms in front of her chest; a faint crease
deepened in the pale skin between her eyebrows. "I'd

124

 feel better ifI could take a closer look, but I can't remove
 it without completely dismantling his cerebral conduit."
    Riker directed a smile at Data. "So. Looks like you're
stuck with emotions for a while. How do you feel?"
Data glanced up from his tricorder, his brow fur-
rowed, his golden eyes narrow with worry. "! am
quite... preoccupied with concern about Geordi."
    "We all are, Data," Riker said softly. "But we're going
to get him back."
    "I hope so, sir." The android's tone and expression
remained anxious.
    "Will..." Beverly took Riker aside and led him over
to a wall monitor. "I checked into Dr. Soran's back-
ground." She pressed a control; a holo of Soran ap-
peared, along with biographical data. "He's an E1
Aurian, over three hundred years old. He lost his entire
family when the Borg destroyed his world. Soran es-
caped with a handful of other refugees aboard a ship
called the Lakul. The ship was destroyed by some kind
of energy ribbon, but Soran and forty-six others were
rescued by the Enterprise-B."
     Riker leaned forward with interest to study Soran's
 face. When had the holo been taken? One hundred, two
 hundred years before? Soran looked almost exactly the
 same. He wore a slight, self-conscious smile--but the
 intensity Riker had seen on the face behind the disruptor
 was still there, too. He gazed back at Beverly as her
 words settled into his consciousness. "That was the
 mission where James Kirk was killed."
     She gave a single nod, then pressed a control on the
 monitor. "I checked the passenger manifest of the Lakul.
 Guess who else was on board?"
  Riker shrugged--then did a double take as the doctor

125

pressed another control, and a new image appeared on
the screen: the smiling face of Guinan.

"Soran?" Guinan looked up with surprise. "That's a
name I haven't heard in a long time."
    Picard sat beside her in her quarters, which made him
feel he was no longer on the Enterprise, but some
mysterious, long-dead world. The bulkheads were
swathed in intricately patterned gold fabric, the deck
covered in tile; in a far comer, an archway led to a small
shrine where candles burned before a stone carving of an
enigmatic goddess.
    Guinan herself sat, arms clasping knees to her chest,
against a stack of pillows on an indigo settee. The distant
candlelight played across her broad, dark features.
    "Do you remember him?" Picard asked. Soran's cryp-
tic utterance made sense to him now; Soran had known
about Robert and Ren6, just as Guinan herself could
knowwif she wished. But Picard had forced himself to
control his grief, to focus on the emergency at hand now;
he could not help feeling personally responsible for the
destruction of the Amargosa star. If he had simply
refused Soran's request to return to the observatory--
    "The outcome would still be the same, Jean-Luc,"
Guinan said softly. "He would have returned, with or
without your permission."
    Picard glanced up, mildly startled at the interruption,
then returned her small, knowing smile and repeated,
"Do you remember him?"
    "Oh, yes .... "The smile faded at once. She rose and
began to move about, as if trying to escape memories.
"Guinan," he said, after a moment had passed in

silence. "It's important that you tell me what you know.
We think Soran's developed a weaponma terrible weap-
on. It might give him enough power tom"
    "Soran doesn't care about power or weapons," she
interrupted, her back still toward him. "All he cares
about is getting back to the nexus."  "What's the nexus?"
    She moved across the room to a credenza and distract-
edly fingered a small sculpture there. Picard could not
see her face, but he could read in her shoulders the
tension, the unwillingness, there. He heard her draw in a
low, decisive breath.
    "The energy ribbon that destroyed the Lakul isn't just
some random phenomenon traveling through space."
She spoke with sudden rapidity, as though afraid if she
didn't get the words out swiftly, they might never come.
"It's a doorway. It leads to another placerathe nexus. It
doesn't exist in our universe... and it doesn't play by
the same rules, either." She straightened. "It's a place
I've tried very hard to forget."
"What happened to you?" Picard probed gently.
She turned to him, her expression radiant at the
memory. "It was like being inside... joy. As if joy were
a real thing that I could wrap around myself. I've never
been so content." Her tone was hushed with awe.
    He studied her in silence a moment, digesting the
euphoria on her face, remembering the desperation on
Soran's. "But then you were beamed away .... "
    Her features darkened with sudden anger. "I was
pulled away. I didn't want to leave. None of us did. All I
could think about was getting back. I didn't care what I
had to do .... "

126                                                             127

    She moved to an observation window and looked out
at darkness and stars. "Eventually, I learned to live with
it. But it changed me."
    "Your sixth sense," Picard murmured, and when she
did not contradict him, continued, "And what about
Soran?"
    "Soran may still be obsessed with getting back. And if
he is, he'll do anything to find that doorway again."
    "But why destroy a star?" he asked, then fell silent. He
rose. "Thank you, Guinan."
     As he moved to leave, she turned, her tone suddenly
urgent. "Let someone else do it, Jean-Luc."  He paused to stare back at her.
    "There aren't words strong enough to make you see, to
make you understand. It's beyond any drug, any im-
plant; it envelops people in the most potent narcotic
there is: love and belonging." She paused, her dark eyes
full of warning. "Don't get near the ribbon. If you go
into that nexus, you're not going to care about Soran or
the Enterprise or me. All you're going to care about is
how it feels to be there. And you're never going to come
back."

    Geordi La Forge woke with a queasy headache and the
distinct realization that he was aboard neither the
observatory nor the Enterprise. He stirred, and realized
that he was sitting in an uncomfortable chair aboard
a vessel of some sort--the floor beneath his feet vi-
brated, and he could hear the groan of aging engines.
The air was warm, stale, none too sweet; he could feel
it on the bare skin of his chest. Someone had removed
his tunic.

128

    And his VISOR, leaving him blind. He leaned forward
and groped in the darkness.
    A hand reached out and grasped his. Faint laughter,
and then a familiar voice, very nearby: "Looking for
something, Mr. La Forge?"
    Geordi drew back. The voice was Soran's, the scientist
from the observatory. He remembered now: Soran had
struck him--and apparently kidnapped him. But
why... ?
    "A remarkable piece of equipment," Soran continued
in a cheerful, conversational tone. "But a little inelegant,
wouldn't you say?"
 Geordi did not reply.
    "Have you ever considered a prosthesis that would
make you look a little more... normal?"
 The words angered him. Easy, he told himself. He~
doing it on purpose. Don't let it get to you ....But he
could not resist countering, "What's normal?"
"Normal," Soran said smoothly, "is what everyone
else is--and what you are not."
    Geordi tried to keep the heat from his own voice, and
failed. "What do you want?"
    A long pause. And then Soran said, "As you may or
may not be aware, I am an El Aurian. Some people call
us a race of listeners. We listen." He hesitated. "Right
now, Mr. La Forge, you have my undivided attention. I
want to listen to everything you know about
trilithium... and me."
    It made no sense; he knew little about either subject.
But he saw no reason not to comply. He thought for a
moment, then replied, "Trilithium is an experimental
compound developed by the Romulans. I think it's a
derivative of--"

129

    He stopped at a sharp thrill of pain near his chest, and
raised his hand to the spot. Almost as quickly, the
sensation disappeared; but Soran had never touched
him.
    "I don't want a science lecture," Soran said coldly.
"You were on that observatory looking for trilithium.
Why?"
    Geordi sighed. This wasn't going to be much fun; he
clearly knew a lot less than Soran thought he did. "I was
ordered to by the captain."
    "Let's try to move beyond the usual prisoner-
interrogator banter, shall we? You have information, and
I need it." Soran paused. "Did the captain explain his
orders to you? Did he say why you were searching for
trilithium?"
  Geordi shook his head. "No."
    Another long pause. "What about... Guinan? What
has she told you about me?"
    "Guinan?" He blinked in surprise. "I don't know
what you're talking about."
    Soran's tone hardened. "My instincts tell me you're
lying. And I know that can't be easy for you... I can see
you have a good heart." He gave a soft, ironic chuckle.
Geordi tilted his head, puzzled at the sudden sound of
ticking--like the sound of an antique Earth timepiece.
    He forgot the sound as a spasm of pain gripped the
center of his chest. A heart attack, Geordi thought,
clutching his chest. He~ somehow induced a heart
attack ....He bowed his head at the agony, unable even
to breathe.
    And then the pain eased again. He drew in a great,
gasping breath and began to pant.

    "Oh," Soran said cavalierly. "I forgot to tell you.
While you were unconscious, I injected a nanoprobe into
your bloodstream. It's been navigating your cardiovas-
cular system... and right now I've attached it to your
left ventricle." Geordi could hear the smile in the man's
voice. "A little trick I learned from the Borg."
    "Yeah," Geordi gasped with irony. "They're full of
great ideas .... "
    All playfulness left the scientist's tone; with cold
matter-of-factness he said, "I just stopped your heart for
five seconds. It felt like an eternity, didn't it? Did you
know that you can stop the human heart for up to six
minutes before the onset of brain damage?"
 He let the hatred he felt show on his features.
"No... I didn't know that ...."
    "We learn something new about ourselves every day,"
Soran said. "Now. Maybe I didn't make myself clear. It
is very important that you tell me exactly what Captain
Picard knows."
    "I told you everything," Geordi told the darkness.
"You might as well kill me right now."
    Silence. And then he heard something entirely unex-
pected in the scientist's tone: genuine compassion. "I'm
not a killer, Mr. La Forge," Soran said, with such
honesty, such quiet shame, that Geordi believed him,
and no longer feared for his life. The E1 Aurian sighed,
and in that sound Geordi heard such unhappiness, such
reluctance, such infinite weariness that, had he not
known what Soran was capable of, he might almost have
pitied him.
    Abruptly, Soran's tone hardened once more. "Let's try
thirty seconds."

130                                                                 131

    Geordi heard the muted sound of fingertips pressing
controls. And then he bowed his head and groaned as
the chest-crushing pain seized him once more, with
such mind-blotting intensity that he was aware of
nothing else... except the soft, steady ticking of a
timepiece.

NINE

132

Other than the holodeck, one of Picard's favorite places
aboard the Enterprise was stellar cartography. With the
holographic map activated, standing on the stellar car-
tography deck was like lying in a country field staring up
at the night sky--or better, like hanging suspended in
space; one need only lean forward to touch the nearest
star ....
    At the moment, the holographic map wasn't activated;
Picard stood, surrounded by computers, sensors, track-
ing devices designed to monitor the ship's precise posi-
tion in space. Beside him, Data sat at a console, awaiting
a readout. Picard gazed at the nearby bank of
viewscreens, which displayed diagrams of an angry
streak of ultraviolet lightning--the energy ribbon--at
various times and locations.
    He had used the mystery of Soran and the ribbon to
focus, to extricate himself from grief. His initial fury and
frustration had ebbed. There was nothing he could do to
help Robert and Ren6; but there was much he could do
to help Geordi La Forge... and to stop whatever harm
Soran planned.

133

    Data leaned forward as the readout appeared on his
screen; Picard caught the movement in his peripheral
vision and turned, expectant. He was still unaccustomed
to seeing the android under the sway of emotion; Data's
depression showed in the slump of his shoulders, the
barely perceptible downward curve of his lips.
    "According to our information," Data said listlessly,
"the ribbon is a conflux of temporal energy which travels
through our galaxy every thirty-nine point one years."
He paused and frowned, apparently having lost his
place. "It will pass through this sector in approxi-
mately... forty-two hours."
    Picard moved away and began to pace, hoping the
movement might keep his weary mind and body alert; he
had slept little since Marie's message. "Then Guinan
was right .... She said Soran was trying to get back to
the ribbon. If that's true, then there must be some
connection with the Amargosa star." He turned on his
heel and faced Data. "Give me a list of anything which
has been affected by the star's destruction, no matter
how insignificant."
    The android did not respond, but merely stared
unblinking at the glowing screen with a disconsolate
expression.
  "Data," Picard snapped.
    Data straightened at once; Picard fancied he caught a
fleeting look of embarrassment on the android's face.
"Sorry, sir." He pressed several controls on the console,
then looked back at the captain. "It will take the
computer a few moments to compile the information."
    Picard folded his arms to wait. As he watched, Data
released a deep, sorrowful sigh, then leaned forward and

134

put his head in his hands. Perplexed, the captain stepped
forward and put a hand on the android's shoulder.
"Data... are you all right?"
    "No, sir." Data raised his head, revealing a tortured
expression. "I am finding it difficult to concentrate. I
believe I am overwhelmed with feelings of... remorse
and regret concerning my actions on the observatory."
    "What do you mean?" Picard asked gently. Neither
Riker nor Worf had reported that Data had committed
any unusual action.
    Data sighed again. "I wanted to save Geordi... I
tried. But I experienced something I did not expect." He
gazed up at the captain with unmasked shame. "Fear. I
was afraid, sir."
    Picard opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again
when the computer signaled. Data turned once more to
his console and began to read glumly.
    "According to our current information, the destruc-
tion of the Amargosa star has had the following effects in
this sector: Gamma emissions have increased by point-
zero-five percent; the Starship Bozeman was forced to
make a course correction; a research project on Gorik
Four was halted due to increased neutrino particles;
ambient magnetic fields have decreased by--"
    "Wait," Picard interrupted. "The Bozeman. Why did
it change course?"
    "The destruction of the Amargosa star has altered the
gravitational forces throughout the sector," Data said.
"Any ships passing through this region will have to make
a minor course correction."
    "A minor course correction..." Picard frowned as he
contemplated the fact. Instinct said there was something

135

 here, some key that remained as yet elusive. He turned
 and headed toward the large holomap control ~console
 behind them. "Where is the ribbon now?"
     Data rose and followed him to the console, then
 pressed a few controls. Within seconds, the room around
 them dissolved, replaced by a huge, twinkling map of the
 galaxy. Data pointed toward a red, glowing dot. "This is
 its current position."
     Picard leaned forward, transfixed. "Can you project
 its course?"
     Data began to respond, then hesitated; his expression
 suddenly crumpled with despair. "Sir... I--I cannot
 continue with this investigation."
  Picard stared at him in bewilderment.
    Data lowered his head in shame. "I wish to be
deactivated until Dr. Crusher can remove the emotion
chip."
  "Are you having some kind of malfunction?"
    The android shook his head. "No, sir. I simply do not
have the ability to control these emotions."
    "Data..." Picard drew a breath. Watching the
android's turmoil was like gazing inward. "I have noth-
ing but sympathy for what you're going through. But I
need your full attention on the task at--"
    Data wheeled on him angrily. "You do not under-
stand, sir. I no longer want these feelings. Deactivating
me is the only viable solution."
    "Data," Picard said sternly, feeling oddly that he was
speaking as much to himself, "part of having emotions is
learning how to integrate them into your life. How to
deal with them, no matter what the circumstance."
  "But, sir--"
 Picard straightened to his full height and summoned

his most authoritarian tone. "And I will not allow you to
be deactivated. You are an officer aboard this ship and
right now you have a duty to perform." He paused, and
when no further protest was forthcoming, added:
"That's an order, Commander."
    As he spoke, Data's expression slowly metamor-
phosed from one of despair to one of stoic resolve. "Yes,
sir," he said softly. "I will try."
    Picard put a reassuring hand on the android's shoul-
der and did not quite smile. "Courage can be an
emotion, too, Data." His tone grew brisk. "Now... can
you project the course of the ribbon?"
    Data squared his shoulders in such an overt display of
determination that Picard struggled not to smile as the
android worked the console. As Picard watched, a
glowing red line appeared in the starry display, forming
an arc between suns. He stepped closer, his pulse quick-
ening. Yes, the answer was here .... He turned back
toward Data. "Where was the Amargosa star?"
    In reply, Data pressed a control; a twinkling star
appeared close to the red line.
    "Now..." Picard mused. "You said when the
Amargosa star was destroyed, it altered the gravitational
forces in this sector. Did the computer take that into
account when it projected the ribbon's course?"
    Surprise spread over Data's features as he considered
this. "No, sir. I will make the appropriate adjustments."
    He did so, and the single twinkling star before Picard's
eyes darkened, blinked, then altogether disappeared. As
it did, the glowing red line shifted to the right--
changing course.
    Picard glanced up, his weariness replaced by the
exhilaration of discovery. "That's what Soran's doing--

136                                                                 137

 he's changing the ribbon's course. But why? Why try to !
 alter its path? Why not simply fly into it with a ship?"
     "Our records show that every ship which has ap-
 proached the ribbon has either been destroyed or severe-
 ly damaged," Data offered.
     "He can't go to the ribbon," Picard said, with a
 sudden flash of insight. "So he's trying to make the
 ribbon come to him." He turned to the android. "Data,
 is it going to pass near any M-class planets?"
     Data consulted the computer once more, then looked
 up. "Yes, sir. There are two in the Veridian system." He
 touched more controls, enlarging the display of the
 Veridian star to reveal the four planets orbiting it.
     Picard studied the red line marking the ribbon's path,
 which passed very close to the third planet. He pointed.
 "It's very close to Veridian Three... but not close
 enough."
    He frowned, troubled, and gazed back at the Veridian
sun. As he stared, an unbidden memory rose: the image
of the fiery, dying Amargosa star, and in his mind's eye,
he saw it in the healthy sun's place. A horrid revelation
seized him. "Data," he said urgently, "what would
happen to the ribbon's path if he destroyed the Veridian
star itself?"
    He knew, with unshakable conviction, exactly what
would occur, even before Data worked the console
controls and the display shifted once more. Before
Picard's eyes, the Veridian sun dimmed, blinked into
darkness. The red line indicating the ribbon's course
shifted--so that it precisely intersected the third planet.
  "That's where he's going," Picard said.
    After a beat's silence, Data added softly, "It should be
noted, sir, that the collapse of the Veridian star would

138

produce a shock wave similar to the one we observed at
Amargosa."
    Picard faced him with a grim expression. "And de-
stroy every planet in the system."
    The android checked his console readout, then eyed
the display with unmasked dismay. "Veridian Three is
uninhabited--but Veridian Four supports a pre-indus-
trial humanoid society."
    Picard turned back to stare at the display, and the
slowly revolving fourth planet. "Population?"
    Data's tone was hushed with dread. "Approximately
two hundred thirty million."
    For an instant--no more--Picard gazed at the image
of Veridian IV and tried to understand what could drive
a man to destroy a world.
    If you go into that nexus, you're not going to care about
$oran or the Enterprise or me. All you're going to care
about is how it feels to be there. And you're never going to
come back ....
Picard touched his comm badge. "Picard to bridge."
"Worf here."
"Set a course for the Veridian system, maximum
warp." He was already in motion as he spoke, headed for
the bridge with renewed determination--and gratitude,
to see Data beside him, moving with the same sense of
urgent purposefulness.

    On the rumbling Bird-of-Prey, Soran paused in the
corridor to squint in the dimness at the face of his open
pocket watch. What he saw there evoked a smile and a
thrill of heart-pounding exhilaration; they should be no
more than a minute now from Veridian III. Soon he
would be with Leandra and the children, far away from

139

 this accursed universe where they were dead and he was
 trapped aboard this stinking scow of a Klingon ship.
    Mr. La Forge had been of no great use. After enduring
speechless agony for several seconds, he had provided no
further revelations, except to confirm Soran's suspicion
that the Enterprise captain was investigating certain
pieces of the puzzle that could lead him to Veridian.
Picard unsettled Soran; the captain might have been
easily swayed while under the influence of fresh grief--
but he was also extremely intelligent. Once that grief
faded, there was a great danger that Picard would
recover and apply that intelligence to learn where Soran
had gone.
    But he had only a minute. Soran smiled again at the
thought, but the smile was not entirely untroubled.
Torturing La Forge had proved more... unpleasant
than Soran had anticipated. In fact, it had turned his
stomach to think he had become like the Borg.
    It doesn't matter. None of it matters. I was kind--I let
La Forge live, which is more than this universe of time
and death will do for him. We're all doomed here, all
walking corpses.
    He had restarted La Forge's heart after fifteen sec-
onds, unable to watch the man's suffering. On his home
planet, he had been a gentle man, a kind man, with no
stomach for cruelty... certainly not murder.
    The sacrifice of Veridian IV is necessary. Necessary.
It~ the only way to return home ....
 Yet the thought of it haunted his nights.
    He would do it, though. He would not falter as he had
with La Forge, because what happened on Veridian IV
would be distant, bloodless; he would not have to
witness it, would already be in the nexus by then.

140

    And, perhaps... unlikely, but just perhaps there
might be some lucky few caught in the reverberations
from the energy ribbon who would be transported to the
nexus. Their bodies would perish in this universe, but
their echoes would live eternally. He was doing those
possible few a favor.
    Nothing--guilt, outsiders, Klingons--nothing could
be permitted to deter him now.
    He repocketed the watch and stepped from the corri-
dor onto the bridge, where the two sisters sat, gruesome
leather-and-metal mirror images, at command. Lursa,
the elder, husky-throated one, the one who seemed most
often to have the last word, swiveled to face him. "Did
you get anything from the human?"
    "No," Soran said, with an inward smile. "His heart
just wasn't in it."
    One of the huge male helmsmen glanced over his
shoulder at his mistress. "We have entered orbit of
Veridian Three."
    Soran glanced at the looming planet on the viewscreen
with a rush of anticipation that turned his skin to
gooseflesh, then turned quickly to Lursa. "Prepare to
transport me to the surface."
    "Wait!" B'Etor rose, distrustful and swaggering, from
her chair. "When do we get our payment?"
    He gazed on her, struggling to mask his hatred. He
despised having to deal with such small-minded, power-
hungry creatures, who would no doubt make a pitiful
mess of the galaxy once he had gone.
    No matter. This universe and its concerns were fast
fading from his consciousness as he focused on the joy to
come. These grotesque parodies of womanhood, this
ship, this situation possessed no more reality than a

141

 painful dream from which he would soon wake. Lursa
 and B'Etor were shadows, phantoms who had sprung
 from the void and would soon vanish into it.
    He sighed, fished a tiny chip from his pocket, and
handed it to her. "This contains all the information
you'll need to build a trilithium weapon," he said, as
WEtor greedily seized the deadly gift and gazed down at
it with glistening, predatory eyes. "It's been coded. Once
I'm safely to the surface, I'll transmit the decryption
sequence to you... not before."
    "Mistress!" the helmsman cried abruplly. "A Federa.
tion starship is entering the system!"
    "What?" Indignant, Lursa leaned forward, clutching
the arms of her chair. "On viewer."
      On the small, dust-covered screen, a grainy, not-quite-
focused image of a starship wavered into view.  The Enterprise, Soran knew instinctively.
    The helmsman swiveled his great, dark head to peer
over a leather-clad shoulder at his mistresses. "They are
hailing us."
    Lip curling, WEtor growled two syllables in Klingon;
her command was followed instantly by the sound of a ~
familiar voice on the intercom.
    "Klingon vessel," Picard said, and Soran closed his
eyes. There was strength in the captain's tone now; he
had mastered his sorrow, and become the adversary
Soran had feared he might. "We know what you're!
doing, and we will destroy any probe launched toward
the Veridian star. We demand that you return our chief
engineer and leave this system immediately."
    Soran felt a surge of wild, dark rage, the same fury he
had experienced more than a century before toward the
Borg. The situation was no different now: Picard was

142

tion.

        STAR TREK GENERATIONS

trying to steal Leandra and the children from him a
second time.
    All compassion fled Soran's soul. He woulckdo what-
ever necessary--would gladly strangle Picard, the entire
Enterprise crew, with his own hands--if it would help
him return to the place he now thought of as home.
Soran pulled out his watch with fingers that trembled
faintly, glanced at its implacable face, then snapped it
shut.
    He turned to the Duras sisters. "There's no time for
this. Eliminate them."
    B'Etor gaped at him as though he were mad. "That is a
Galaxy-class starship! We are no match for them."
    Soran took a deep breath to calm himself, to dissolve
the frustration that threatened to devour his reason. He
would not yield. There was a solution, and he would find
it, if he could manage to slow his racing thoughts ....
     With a burst of inspiration, he pulled La Forge's
 optical prosthesis from his pocket, and held it before the
 curious women like a prize.
     "I think it's time we gave Mr. La Forge his sight
 back .... "

oy to

md

    On the Enterprise bridge, Picard paced as he waited
for the Bird-of-Prey's reply.
 "Maybe they're not out there," Riker said.
    Picard kept his gaze fixed on the main viewscreen, on
the darkness and stars that somewhere hid an aging
vessel. "They're just trying to decide whether a twenty-
year-old Klingon Bird-of-Prey is any match for the
Federation flagship."
    Beside him, Troi said softly, "Or perhaps they're on
the surface .... "

143

            J. M. IJILLAKU

    Picard glanced at her. It was a possibility that had
occurred to him; one that added an element of difficulty
to their current predicament.
    It was underscored when Worf turned from the helm
to face him. "Sir... according to my calculations, a
solar probe launched from either the Klingon ship or the
planet's surface would take eleven seconds to reach the
sun." He paused. "However, since we do not know the
exact point of origin, it will take us between eight and
fifteen seconds to lock our weapons on to it."
 Picard gazed at him grimly, but said nothing.
    "That's a pretty big margin of error," Riker said
softly.
    "Too big." Picard took another restless few steps, then
swiveled toward the helm. "How long until the ribbon
arrives?"
    "Approximately forty-seven minutes, sir," Data re-
plied.
    The captain released a silent sigh of frustration. "I
have to find a way to get to Soran .... "He remembered
the look of desperation in the scientist's eyes--one close
to madness; yet there had still been reason, there, too.
Instinct said that Soran was not a willing murderer; and
if Guinan had managed to adapt to life outside the
nexus, then perhaps Soran could be persuaded as well.
    It would not be easy. Picard had studied the scientist's
biographical information; his young wife and children,
all killed by the Borg. Indications were that the Borg had
interrogated Soran briefly before the scientist escaped;
cause enough, the captain knew, for madness... and
for a reason ~o think he could get through to the scientist.
He understood what it was to lose one's family in a

                144

         IAK 1 KI~I~ ~I~INI~,KAI IUINb

brutal instant--and what it was like to have one's mind,
one's person invaded by cold-blooded force.
 He started as the helm beeped a warning.
    "Captain," Worf said, "Klingon vessel decloaking
directly ahead. They are hailing."
     On the viewscreen, a patch of velvet blackness wa-
vered, then transformed itself into a Bird-of-Prey.
 "Onscreen," Picard ordered.
    As he watched, the vessel vanished, replaced by the
toothily smiling images of Lursa and WEtor.
    "Captain." Lursa's tone was one of feigned warmth.
She leaned forward in her chair, her long dark hair
streaming down onto metal-and-leather warrior regalia.
"What an unexpected pleasure."
    Picard felt his expression harden. "Lursa, I want to
talk to Soran."
    Her smile grew coy. "I'm afraid the doctor is no longer
aboard our ship."
    "Then I'll beam down to his location," Picard coun-
tered. "Just give us his coordinates."
    WEtor spoke, with the same unctuous, faintly mock-
ing tone as her sister. "The doctor values his privacy. He
would be quite... upset if an armed away team inter-
rupted him."
    The captain hesitated no more than a second. He had
hoped to beam down armed and with communications
intact, so that he could inform the Enterprise of the
prohe's location--but if that was not possible, then he
had no choice but to trust the instinct that said he would
be able to stop Soran on the planet surface. "Very well,"
he told the sisters. "I'll beam to your ship and you can
transport me to Soran."

145

    "Sir." Riker turned toward him, urgent. "You can't
trust them. For all we know, they killed Geordi and
they'll kill you, too."
    "We did not harm your engineer," Lursa retorted,
with such indignation that Picard believed her. "He has
been our guest."
    Riker faced her, his expression cold, mistrustful.
"Then return him."
  "In exchange for what?" B'Etor demanded.
    Data looked up at the captain, his expression eager.
"Me, sir."
    Picard ignored him. "Me," he told the Klingon wom-
en. "If you let me speak to Soran."
    He knew at once from their sudden, startled silence
that his offer would be accepted. They glanced at each
other, trying to mask their enthusiasm; B'Etor leaned
over and quickly whispered something in Klingon to her
sister. Lursa nodded thoughtfully, then glanced back at
the screen.
  "We'll consider it a prisoner exchange."
    "Agreed," Picard said with relief, ignoring the look of
disapproval on Will Riker's face. The screen darkened,
then once more displayed the image of the Bird-of-Prey.
Picard turned and headed for the turbolift.
    "Number One," he said, "you have the bridge. Have
Dr. Crusher meet me in transporter room three."
    He left swiftly, before Riker could protest further,
with determination and an odd sense of destiny.

0

TEN

In the humid, overheated cabin, Geordi leaned heavily
against the back of his chair and awaited Soran's return.
The nanoprobe's grip on his heart left him nauseated,
slightly breathless, perspiring; sweat trickled down his
forehead and stung his sightless eyes.
    He could not quite figure the scientist out. Soran
seemed mercurial, unpredictable. When the interroga-
tion had first begun, Geordi felt certain it would end in
his execution. Soran's voice held an edge of anger, pain,
an undercurrent of mad desperation that said he would
do anything, anything to get what he wanted.
    Yet there had been genuine compassion in his tone
when he said, I'm not a killer, Mr. La Forge. And in the
middle of the torture, the pain had suddenly stopped.
    Geordi had survived the crushing agony by forcing
himself to mentally count the seconds. He had lost track
somewhere after nine--when he had suddenly been
overwhelmed by pain and the terrifying conviction that
Soran had been wrong, that he was in fact dying. He
struggled for oxygen, heard himself gasping like a strug-

146                                                            147

gling fish, drowning in an ocean of air. His consciousness
flickered, and in his agonized, dreamlike state, he be-
came strangely aware that Soran sensed what he felt; that
Soran knew, and could not bear it.
    The torment abruptly ceased. Thirty seconds, Soran
had said. But the pain had stopped somewhere around
fifteen.
    Geordi had lifted his head, forgetting in his pain-filled
haze that he was blind, that Soran still had the VISOR.
Like I said, he had croaked, I don't know anything
beyond what I've already told you.
    Soran had not replied. In the silence Geordi had heard
the scientist rise, then stand for a long moment before
turning and leaving the cabin.
    Maybe he had had a change of heart. Or maybe he
simply didn't have the stomach for torture and had gone
to get someone else. Or maybe...
    Geordi sighed and let his head 1oll to one side. No
point in speculating. Either he was going to die or he
wasn't. The thought frightened him--but at the mo-
ment, he was too exhausted to waste much energy on
worrying about it. So long as Soran left the nanoprobe
alone...
    He straightened as the door slid open with a groan,
and listened intently as two--no, three pairs of footsteps
thudded against the metal deck. One pair stopped in
front of him; two behind, on either side.
    "Mr. La Forge." Soran's voice neared until Geordi
could sense the scientist standing directly in front of
him. Soran's tone was brisk, hurried. "As much as I've
enjoyed our little visit, it's time to part. Stand, please."
    Geordi rose unsteadily to his feet; huge, warm hands
grasped his arms just above the elbows and steadied him

while another pair of hands pulled soft cloth over his
head. His tunic; his arms were guided into the sleeves,
and then another pair of hands placed something cool
and metal over his eyes.
    He blinked and touched a hand to his VISOR as the
world came suddenly into focus. Soran was smiling, his
blue-gray eyes bright not with desperation, but with
maniacal anticipation. Even the lines and shadows be-
neath his eyes seemed to have lessened, making him
appear a younger man. "Now, if you would be so kind as
to come with us..."
    He gestured toward the door. Geordi swiveled his
head, and saw that he was flanked by two towering
guards, their bronze skull ridges terminating in shaggy,
waist-length manes of dark hair. "Klingons," he whis-
pered, and turned to gaze at his surroundings as the
guards pushed him toward the exit. "This is a Klingon
ship .... "
    The quartet entered a cramped, dimly lit corridor.
Soran strode in front of them, his attention focused on
the hand that held the antique timepiece. "Very astute,
Mr. La Forge," he murmured with a distracted, irritable
air. "They do give a very thorough education at Starfleet
Academy, don't they?"
    Soran's intensity had so escalated that Geordi feared
for a moment that he was being led to his execution; but
they soon entered a transporter room.
    Soran stepped first upon a pad and uttered a single
command: "Energize."
    One of the guards stepped behind the console and
complied. Geordi tried to peer over his shoulder in
hopes of spying the coordinates, but the second guard
stepped behind him, blocking his view.

148                                                               149

    The transporter whined shrilly; Soran's image began
to dematerialize, then reappeared with a sputter of
sparks. The scientist's features darkened with rage as the
guard furiously worked the console controls. Soran's
form once more wavered, then dissolved, but not before
Geordi read the word on his lips: Imbeciles ....
    Then he was shoved upon a pad himself. The Klingon
vessel faded from view and was replaced by the sleek,
gleaming bulkheads of the Enterprise. Geordi got the
faintest impression of Captain Picard dematerializing
beside him, and then he was stepping forward and
sinking to his knees in front of a waiting Dr.
Crusher ....

    On the surface of Veridian III, Picard gazed up at the
lilac sky and thought of Eden before the creation of
humankind. No sound of aircars, of industry or voices,
no sight of cities or ships streaking toward the horizon;
the only sounds were the stirring of small mammals in
the lush foliage, of birds singing high and sweet, the only
sights those of clouds, mountains, ancient trees.
    He stared down and saw that he stood on the dusty
clay surface of a plateau ringed by greenery. Before him,
a large scaffolding had been erected against a single
towering rock face--the only sign of humanoid distur-
bance.
    On instinct, he turned and saw Soran gazing calmly at
his antique pocket watch. The scientist closed the time-
piece, put it away, and smiled thinly at Picard.
    "You must think I'm quite the madman." He seemed
outwardly composed, but there was a hint of volatility in
the way the corners of his lips trembled slightly, a hint of
pain in his eyes.

Picard drew in a breath, hesitated, then yielded to the
truth. "The thought had crossed my mind."
    Soran's blue eyes hardened faintly, though the smile
did not change. "Think whatever you like, Captain." He
turned and began to move away, toward the scaffold.
    Picard took a step. "Soran... I understand you were
interrogated by the Borg."
    His body did not turn, but his head jerked back
sharply to regard the captain with dark suspicion. "What
concern is it of yours?"
    "I... have had experience with the Borg myself."
Picard hesitated, choosing his words carefully not just
for Soran's sake, but for his own; speaking of the
experience, even with trusted friends, still did not come
easily. He could see that his words, his intensity, had
impressed Soran. The scientist stared, frowning, as the
captain continued: "They captured me. Made me one of
their own. Used me against the Federation..." He
paused at the painful memory. "The experience nearly
destroyed me. But I survived. I had help... good
friends .... "He took another step toward Soran and
held out an arm. "Soran... don't let what happened to
you destroy you. We can help--"
    Such potent bitterness swept over the scientist's face
that Soran could not entirely repress a grimace. "I
appreciate your concern, Captain. But this has nothing
to do with destroying myself. Quite the contrary, in
fact." He gathered himself, managed another
unheartfelt smile. "Forgive me ifI don't respond to your
emotional plea. You see, I don't quite believe that you've
shown up because you're overwhelmed by concern for
me. The only possible reason you're here is that you're
not entirely confident you can shoot down my probe

150                                                                 151

after all. So you've come to dissuade me from my
horrific plan." He paused for emphasis, then said, with
heavy irony: "Good luck."
    He turned his back to the captain and strode confi-
dently toward the scaffolding.
    Picard moved to follow. A bright flash blinded him,
slammed him flat on his back against rock-hard clay,
shoved the air from his lungs. He gasped, struggling for
an instant to catch his breath, then sat up slowly and
blinked until his vision cleared.
    A forcefield, of course; but it had just as quickly
disappeared from view, invisibly surrounding Soran--
and, Picard suspected, the scaffolding. The captain
pushed himself to his feet and carefully made his way to
what he hoped was the field's edge.
    Beyond, Soran confidently ignored him, frowning up
at the sky and then down at a padd nestled in his palm.
    Picard kicked dust, and watched it glimmer briefly as
the field repelled it. He was determined to get to
Soran--if not through his words, then somehow,
through the field.
    "You don't need to do this, Soran," he called. "I'm
sure we could find another way to get you into this
nexus."
    The scientist did not reactmmerely stood, pale and
black-clad like a mourner, with his back to Picard, and
concentrated on the data cupped in his hand. He pressed
a few controls... and Picard started as a small probe
launcher decloaked near the scientist.
    Soran moved calmly to the launcher, stepped up to its
control panel, and began to work. With a tone as
dispassionate and detached as one scientist explaining to
another how to operate the panel, he said, 'Tve spent

         3 IAK 1KEK [JEINEKA111.giXl~

eighty years looking for another way, Captain. This is
the only way." He hesitated, then angled his narrow face
toward Picard; an honest grin played at his lips. "Of
course, you could always come with me. You fancy
yourself an explorer. Here's a chance to explore some-
thing no human has ever experienced."
    Picard's tone frosted. "Not if it means killing over two
hundred million people."
    Soran recoiled as if struck. So, Picard thought. I've
struck a nerve ....
    But the scientist quickly hid his discomfort; the
calculated, calm expression descended once more over
his features. "As you wish," he said lightly, and turned
back toward his padd.
    "Soran..." Picard let his voice and features soften.
"I know that you lost your wife and family to the Borg; I
know what it is to lose family, to feel lonely. You're not
alone in that. But fleeing to the nexus isn't going to bring
them back--"
    Soran looked up with angry swiftness, his pale face
flushed incarnadine. "You're wrong, Captain. You
haven't been there; you haven't the slightest idea what
the nexus is, what it's capable of. Everyone you've ever
lost, Captain--you can have them all back. And more."
    "So that's why," Picard whispered. "You're going to
get them back. You would do anything, kill anyone, to
get them back."
    The scientist said nothing; only gazed at Picard for a
fleeting second with an expression of utter vulnerability,
then quickly turned his face away.
    "I wonder," Picard said slowly. "Did your wife
Leandra know that she married a man who was capable
of mass murder?"

152                                                                 153

J. M. DILLARD

    Soran did not glance up from his console; but Picard
saw something dark and ugly flicker across his profile.
The captain pressed harder.
    "When you tucked your children into bed... do you
suppose they ever suspected that their father would one
day kill millions as casually as he kissed them good
night?"
    At last Soran stopped his work and looked up. For an
instant his eyes were still vulnerable, haunted by memo-
ries. Picard felt a stirring of hope. And then the brittle-
ness ascended upward from the scientist's hollowly
smiling lips to his eyes.
    "Nice try," he whispered huskily, then turned back to
his work.

    In the instant he woke to darkness, Geordi La Forge
was seized by the unreasoning fear that he was back on
the Klingon Bird-of-Prey. Soran was waiting for him in
the silence laced by the ship's rumbling and the inces-
sant ticking of a clock, and this time, all compassion was
gone from the scientist's voice as he said, I'm afraidyour
time is up, Mr. La Forge. Let's try for the full six minutes,
shall we?
    Geordi opened his eyes with a gasp--which evolved
into a relieved sigh when he saw himself surrounded by
the familiar sight of the Enterprise sickbay. He blinked
to clear the last vestiges of the dream.
    He had been frightened while aboard the Bird-of-
Prey--but the pain and Soran had been a distraction.
Now that he was safe, the danger he had been in began to
hit home. He could have easily been killed ....
 He banished the thought as Dr. Crusher leaned,

154

        STAR TREK GENERATIONS

smiling, over the biobed, and draped her auburn hair
over an ear. "How're you feeling?"
    He returned the smile as he realized that, physically,
he felt ready to return to work. "Just fine."
    She nodded. "Don't worry, there's been no permanent
damage. There's only been a little arterial scarring and
some myocardial degeneration. I've removed the
nanoprobe and I think you're going to be fine, but I want
to run some more tests."
    "Thanks, Doc," he said, and pushed himself to a
sitting position. He could tell from her voice and expres-
sion that he was all right and that she was, as usual,
simply being very cautious.
    The doctor moved away to reveal Data, who had been
standing behind her.
    "Data!" Geordi grinned. He had intended to ask
whether the emotion chip had been removed--but the
question was unnecessary. The android's eyes were
troubled, his expression one of concern, mixed with
remorse. "So--you didn't remove the chip after all?"
    "No. It was fused into my neural net. Removing it
would be quite complicated--so I am attempting to deal
with the emotions." Data sighed heavily. "It has not
been easy. I have been very worried about you, Geordi."
    "It's okay." Geordi spread his arms wide. "I'm here,
and I'm fine."
    "It is more than that." Data paused, then lowered his
head. "I let Soran kidnap you. I could have prevented it,
but I did not. And if you had died--"
 "But I didn't, Data. It's over, and I'm okay."
    The android glanced up, his expression miserable. "I
am sorry I let you down, Geordi. I have not been
behaving like myself lately."

                155

            J. lVl. DILLAKD

    Impulsively, Geordi reached out and gave his friend's
hand a pat. "No, you haven't. You've been behaving like
a human." He paused. "I understand. When Soran
tortured me, I was afraid. Dying is a very scary thing,
Data. It's normal to fear it."
    The android tilted his head in a puzzled gesture that
reminded Geordi so much of the old Data that he
smiled. "I agree," Data said, thoughtful. "But before I
had the chip implanted, it would have made no sense to
me." He paused. "It still makes no sense, even though I
have experienced the emotion. What is so terrible about
simply ceasing to exist?"
    Geordi shrugged. "I don't know. Fear of the unknown,
maybe... or maybe it's just that our instinct to live is so
strong."
    "But this is terrible," Data said. "I am designed to
outlast everyone aboard this vessel, yet I am terrified at
the thought that, eventually, one day, I will ... cease.
And that I must lose all of my friends." He shared a
meaningful look with Geordi. "How do you bear it?"
    He did not answer immediately. "We don't have much
choice, I guess. And... to be honest, most of the time
we try not to think about it." He hesitated. "But maybe
we ought to. It'd make us appreciate each moment--and
our friends"--he smiled at the android, and reached
again for his hand--"a lot more."
    And as he watched, the expression of dismay on
Data's face slowly metamorphosed into a smile.

    "I have established the link," the navigator, Qorak,
said.
    B'Etor shared a swift glance with her sister and smiled
with relief. Until this moment, she had not trusted Soran

156

            II~EIK U?-INIDI~/4tl IUINO

too far; too much kindness lurked behind the madness in
his eyes. Yet his intensity attracted her--despite the fact
that he was a puny human, a race she had never found
attractive. Physically, Soran was no exception; he was
lean, wiry, short by Klingon standards. But there was
something intriguing about him: the bright silver hair,
cropped short, the translucent skin, the pale-colored
eyes.
    Those eyes... they held an intensity she had rarely
seen, even in the most determined of Klingon males. His
eyes had blazed with it when he had struck her on the
bridge. She respected that intensity--for she knew few
that shared it, except for herself and her sister. Her life,
her being, was consumed by one passion: seeing the
Duras family restored to power. Now, with Soran's help,
she would see that passion consummated. And more:
With the trilithium weapon, the sisters of Duras could
conquer far more than the Klingon Empire that was
their birthright. With such power, the entire galaxy
would soon be theirs.
    She had come close to killing Soran when he had
struck her; but even in her anger, she was forced to bear
grudging admiration for anyone who dared lash out at
her on the bridge, in full view of her soldiers.
     She hoped she could trust him. For if not, despite her
attraction, she would personally see to his death.
 "Put it onscreen," Lursa ordered.
    WEtor held her breath. Static filled the viewscreen,
then cleared gradually to reveal... white. Nothing but
white, and for an instant, she felt a stab of fury: Soran
had lied, had betrayed them ....
    And then she released her breath, gently, as she
realized they were staring at a ceiling on the Enterprise.

157

B'Etor's grin returned as, beside her, Lursa said softly,
"It's working .... "
  "Where is he?" B'Etor demanded.
    As if in answer, a human's face loomed large on the
screen. A woman, with a face so pale and smooth, it
seemed to B'Etor naked, unfinished as a gestating
child's. The woman leaned over the link, smiling with
abnormally even, tiny teeth, her long, fine hair hanging
forward in a shining curtain.
    B'Etor recoiled with a grimace. "Human females are
so repulsive .... "
    The woman began to speak silently. Lursa and B'Etor
watched as the woman withdrew; soon the strange-
looking android with the golden eyes appeared. He, too,
silently mouthed words--and then the woman returned,
and began to perform what appeared to be medical tests,
until B'Etor shifted restlessly in her chair and mumbled
an epithet beneath her breath.
    Even so, she and her sister continued to gaze at the
screen. Too much--the entire galaxy--was at stake to
let vigilance lapse. At last the view switched from the
sickbay to the Enterprise corridors. B'Etor felt a surge of
hope... until the scene shifted to that of a luxurious
cabin, and a private head. Soon the two sisters were
staring at cascades of running water.
 "He's taking a bath," Lursa growled.
    B'Etor stared in irritation at the screen as a pair of
dark feet suddenly peeked out from beneath sloshing
water. She turned to her sister. "I thought he was the
chief engineer."
 "He is," Lursa replied disconsolately.
 "Then when is he going to engineering?"
 B'Etor fell silent as Lursa struck her arm with the back

of a hand to get her attention, then gestured toward the
screen. The view had suddenly changed again, to one of
mists and fog. B'Etor leaned forward, expectant, as a
dark hand appeared from beyond the mist...
    Then wiped away the fog to reveal La Forge's unself-
conscious reflection.
 She fell back in her chair and howled in frustration.

    On a different bridge, Will Riker was feeling no small
amount of unease as he gazed at the Bird-of-Prey on the
viewscreen. He understood Picard's reasons for wanting
to beam down to Veridian III, but he in no way trusted
the Duras sisters. Not that he feared a direct attack--the
Klingon ship was no match for the likes of the Enterprise
--but he knew Lursa and B'Etor were capable of great
treachery. And he could not shake the nagging premoni-
tion that something was amiss, something was about to
go terribly wrong--and not simply with the captain.
    Perhaps Deanna sensed it, too--or maybe she simply
sensed his own discomfort. Either way, he was aware of
her dark eyes studying him with an expression of con-
cern; he did not meet them, but focused his attention on
Worf, who studied the readout on his monitor with a
decided frown.
 "Any luck, Mr. Worf?." He leaned over the console.
    The Klingon shook his head. "No, sir. I am still unable
to locate the captain."
    Riker turned as the turbolift doors slid open. Data
stepped forward onto the bridge and headed for his
station. The android's mood had changed radically from
the last time Riker had seen him. Data's lips curved
upward in a faint grin; his posture was straight, his step
buoyant.

158                                                             159

    "Data," Riker said. "The sensors can't penetrate the
planet's ionosphere; there's too much interference. Can
you find another way to scan for life-forms?"
    Data settled behind his station and glanced up at his
commanding officer; his grin broadened. "I would be
happy to, sir. I just love to scan for life-forms." He set
at once to work, ad-libbing a merry little song: "Life-
forms... tiny little life-forms... where are you, life-
forms... ?"
    Riker's lips parted in aghast amazement, he dared not
turn round, for fear of catching sight of Deanna's eyes.
But his gaze accidentally met the Klingon's, who shot
him a look of such long-suffering martyrdom that Riker
looked away quickly, before he erupted in laughter.

    Atop the dusty plateau, Picard moved warily, giving
an occasional surreptitious kick and noting where the
pebbles bounced off the field's perimeter. Overhead, the
sky still shone brightly with the Veridian sun--but not,
the captain feared, for long, Soran bent, utterly ab-
sorbed, over the launcher's control panel. If he was not
stopped soon--
    "Soran," he said loudly; the scientist did not look up.
"I can see that despite everything, you still possess
compassion. You could have killed my engineer--"
    Without taking his focus from his task, Soran inter-
rupted harshly. "I didn't have the time."
    "I don't believe that." Picard took a few more steps
around the field's perimeter, managed another swift,
unnoticed kick. Dust and pebbles collided with the field
in a colorful burst of sparks, then fell to the sand. "It
would have been just as easy to kill him as let him go.
Soran... you had a wife, children. They died in a

 senseless tragedy. Can't you see that you've become
 what you most despised? What you're about to do is no
 different from when the Borg destroyed your world. Two
 hundred thirty million wives, husbands, children..."
     Keeping his attention focused on the launcher con-
 trols, the scientist at last replied--with such soft, cool
 detachment in his voice that Picard shuddered inwardly.
 "You're right," Soran said. "And there was a time when I
 wouldn't have hurt anyone. Then the Borg came... and
 they showed me that if there is one constant in this
 universe, it's death." He paused to key in a command,
 then continued in the same even, conversational tone.
     "Afterward, I began to realize that none of it mat-
 tered. We're all going to die anyway. It's only a question
 of how and when. You will, too, Captain. You might
 contract a fatal disease... you might die in battle..."
     He lifted his face and fixed Picard with a gaze that
 pierced to the captain's soul. "... or burn to death in a
 fire."
     Despite himself, Picard froze. Soran stepped down
 from the launcher and moved closer until he stood just
 on the field's other side.
    "You look surprised," he said softly. "But you
shouldn't be. I've been to the nexus, Captain. I know
things about people." He leaned closer, his eyes bright
with the desperate intensity Picard had first seen in
Ten-Forward; his voice dropped to just above a whisper.
"Aren't you beginning to feel time gaining on you? It's
like a predator. It's stalking you. You can try to outrun it
with doctors, medicines... new technologies. But in
the end, time is going to hunt you downmand make the
kill." As he finished, his lips twisted with bitterness.
  Picard lowered his gaze. Impossible to deny the truth

160                                                               161

of Soran's assertions; he felt the same bitterness himself,
the same anger at the patent unfairness of death. He
struggled to find a counterargument--but the words he
chose seemed to him meaningless, clich6s. "We're all
mortal, Soran. It's one of the truths of our existence."
    "An ugly truth," Soran said passionately. "A hideous
truth." He paused; the anger began to ease from his
features, to be replaced by dawning exhilaration. "What
if I told you I found a new truth..." "The nexus," Picard said.
    Soran's swift smile was an affirmation. "I've spent the
last eighty years speaking to other Lakul survivors about
their experiences in it, researching it, trying to under-
stand it. Time has no meaning there," he said, with a
simple wonder that erased all trace of darkness from his
features, his eyes. "The predator has no teeth. Think of
it, Captain... the curse that has plagued the entire
universe since the beginning of life--gone. No more
death, no suffering..."
    He gazed, expectant, at the sky, his face suddenly
luminous with sunlight and hope. And then he turned
his back on Picard and hurried back to the probe
launcher.
    Picard watched with a sense of defeat. He could argue
no further with Soran's murderous logic; his only course
lay in finding a way inside the forcefield. He glanced
once more at Soran, whose attention was entirely fo-
cused on the launcher control panel, then began to pace
along the field's perimeter.
    He had not gone far when he spied an unusual
formation within a dusty red mound: over eons, wind
and water had burrowed through the ancient stone to
sculpt an almost perfect archway--an opening, Picard
judged, just large enough for a man to squeeze through.

162

He stared at the daylight beyond; if, by chance, Soran
had failed to notice the gap, and hadn't accounted for it
when programming the forcefield...
    Casually, Picard bent down to retrieve a pebble and
tossed it in Soran's direction. The field flashed on,
revealing something that filled Picard with sudden hope:
The field extended to the top of the mound, and no
farther. The archway was unshielded.
    As if sensing danger, Soran glanced up at the crackling
sound. "Careful, Captain. That's a fifty-gigawatt
forcefield. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt."
    Picard's lips thinned at the irony in the scientist's
tone; if all went as Soran planned, the captain would be
destroyed by the ensuing shock wave. "Thank you," he
replied coolly, and waited for Soran to look back down
at the controls before arming himself with pebbles.

    On the Bird-of-Prey's bridge, B'Etor sat scowling at
the viewscreen, which revealed a roving view of the
Enterprise's corridors. She glanced up as her sister, who
had given up in impatience and left the bridge, returned.
    Lursa followed her sister's gaze to the screen. "Where
is he now?"
    "I don't know," B'Etor snapped. "He bathed... now
he is roaming the ship .... He must be the only engineer
in Starfleet who does not go to engineering!"
    Lursa sat beside her with an unhappy groan. As she
did, the view on the screen shifted as the engineer
rounded a corner... and moved past a small bulkhead
sign marked ENGINEERING.
B'Etor leaned forward eagerly in her chair. "Finally!"
They watched as the engineer approached another
human--a uniformed male, who stopped and initiated a
conversation. B'Etor frowned, trying to read the hu-

163

man's lips. Her skill in speaking Standard was formida-
ble, and she was able to make out the words "diagnostic"
and "generators."
    The view shifted again, this time to something that
took B'Etor to the edge of her seat: A bank of monitors,
and beside them, a large graphic of the Enterprise. Then
once more, the view began to pan to the left.
    "That's it!" Lursa swiveled and grasped her sister's
wrist. "Replay from time index four-two-nine."
    B'Etor's fingers flew swiftly over the controls on her
console arm. The image on her small monitor and the
main viewscreen reversed itself to show the bank of
monitors and the graphic diagram of the starship.
    Lursa touched the diagram on B'Etor's small console
screen. "Magnify this section and enhance."
    B'Etor worked once more, enlarging the view of the
Enterprise graphic. Lursa leaned forward until her face
was a handsbreadth from the console arm, and read
aloud, squinting. "Their shields are operating on a
modulation of two-five-seven point four .... "
    She rose, her face flushed, and gazed into B'Etor's eyes
with triumph.
    "Adjust our torpedo frequency to match," B'Etor
called out, her voice rising with excitement. "Two-five-
seven point four!" She returned her sister's exultant
smile; for with those words, she had just secured the
destruction of the Enterprise, and victory for the house
of Duras.

164

ELEVEN

"Sir." His cheerful expression now replaced by one of
concern, Data swiveled toward Riker. "I am detecting an
anomalous subspace reading in Main Engineering. It
may be--"
    Riker never heard the rest. The ship reeled hard to
port, slamming him against the arm of his chair. He held
on, managing to turn his head to look at the screen,
where the bright glow of the most recent blast was fading
to reveal the Bird-of-Prey against the backdrop of
Veridian III. As Riker watched, another brilliantly shin-
ing torpedo emerged from the Klingon vessel and
streaked relentlessly toward the Enterprise.
    He barely had time to brace himself before the next
one hit--with such thunderous force that when it ended,
he felt amazed the hull above them had not been sheared
in two.
    Over the screaming of the red-alert klaxons, Worf
called, "They have found a way to penetrate our
shields!"
 "Lock phasers and return fire!" Riker ordered.

165

            J. M. DILLAKD

    On the screen, the Bird-of-Prey's shields flashed as
they absorbed the impact of the starship's phaser blasts.
    A no-win situation, Riker realized, even before he saw
the next photon torpedo blazing toward them on the
viewscreen. Without shields, the Enterprise would be
torn apart.
    The ship lurched again beneath his feet; the conn
console erupted in a hail of sparks, hurling the conn
officer to the deck.
    "Deanna!" Riker shouted. "Take the helm. Get us out
of orbit!"
    Troi propelled herself from her chair and raced un-
steadily across the rocking deck to the helm. Within
seconds, Veridian III disappeared from the viewscreen
--but the Klingon vessel was in full pursuit. Not
enough, Riker knew, as he squinted his eyes at the
dazzling glow of another approaching torpedo. Lursa
and B'Etor had found a way to outwit the Enterprise's
superior firepower; it was time for Riker to return the
favor.
    As the ship was jolted again, Data called, his voice
bright with panic, "Hull breach on decks thirty-one
through thirty-five!"
    "Worfl" Riker paused and braced himself as yet
another hit rocked the bridge; overhead, the lights
flickered. "That's an old Klingon ship. What do we know
about it? Are there any weaknesses?"
    Worf clutched his console and held on as the ship
rolled. "It is a Class D-twelve Bird-of-Prey. They
were retired from service because of defective plasma
coils."
    "Plasma coils? Is there any way we can use that to our
advantage?"

                166

    "I do not see how," Worf replied. "The plasma coil is
part of their cloaking device."
    "Data." Riker wheeled toward him with sudden inspi-
ration. "Wouldn't a defective plasma coil be susceptible
to some kind of ionic pulse?"
    "Perhaps..." Data frowned, considering it, then
brightened with enthusiasm. "Yes! If we sent a low-level
ionic pulse, it might reset the coil and trigger their
cloaking device. Excellent idea, sir."
    Worf nodded, on to the idea. "As their cloak begins to
engage, their shields will drop."
    "Right," Riker said. "And they'll be vulnerable for at
least two seconds." He glanced at the android. "Data,
lock on to that plasma coil."
    "No problem," Data answered, confident. He hurried
over to a bulkhead, removed a panel, and began rerout-
ing circuitry at inhuman speed.
    "Worf." Riker turned to the Klingon. "Prepare a
spread of photon torpedoes. We'll have to hit them the
instant they begin to cloak."
 "Aye, sir." Worf began to work his console.
    "We're only going to get one shot at this," Riker
continued. "Target their primary reactor. With any luck,
their warp core should explode."
    "I have accessed their coil frequency," Data called,
from his supine position on the deck. "Initiating ionic
pulse..."
    The bridge reeled once more. Riker held on, bowing
his head as the aft console exploded, raining smoke and
debris. "Make it quick... !"

A moment earlier on the Bird-of-Prey's bridge, B'Etor
smiled, intoxicated with triumph, at her older sister.

167

Soran had proved himself a worthy ally; not only had he
given them a weapon of incredible power, he had also
come up with the plan which would now provide them
with the added pleasure of destroying the Enterprise.
Who would dare stand up to them now? B'Etor allowed
herself a fleeting daydream: Herself, white-haired and
wrinkled, telling again to her kinsmen and followers the
story of how she and her late sister had, with nothing
more than an ancient Bird-of-Prey, destroyed the great
Galaxy-class starship ....
    The deck rocked slightly beneath her feet. She glanced
over at the helmsman, who quickly reported, "Minor
damage to the port nacelle. Our shields are holding."
  Her smile widened. "Fire at will .... "
    She watched with unutterable delight as the torpedoes
found their target, scarring the gleaming metal of the
Enterprise's hull. You were wise to tell your captain not to
trust us, Commander Riker. Are you contemplating your
own words now?
    Beside her, Lursa laughed softly in pure enjoyment.
"Target their bridge."
    "Full disruptors," B'Etor added. They had savored
their advantage long enough; time now to make a clean,
swift kill.
    The navigator released a soft yelp, one full of such
mortal surprise that B'Etor whirled swiftly in her chair,
her euphoria turned abruptly to unease.
    The navigator looked up at her, his eyes wide with
panic. "We are cloaking!"
  "What?" B'Etor gasped.
    "Mistress!" the helmsman cried. "Our shields are
down!"

168

    There was no time for her to issue an order; merely to
stare, stunned, at the viewscreen, which showed a pack
of torpedoes streaking toward themmthen to share a
final gaze of stunned defeat with her sister.
    The bridge shuddered beneath the blows, which came
so fast and hard that B'Etor could not keep her balance,
could not remain in her chair, but fell, clawing for
purchase, to the deck. Around her, consoles exploded
into flame, bodies flew, men screamed; and then a
rumble began, deep in the ship's belly, one that grew
until the deck beneath her trembled, until the very teeth
in her skull chattered. She knew by instinct that the warp
core had begun to implode, that there was no chance of
survival. She and the ship and everyone on it would be
reduced to dust.
    Even so, she felt no sorrow--it would be a good death,
a warrior's death--only deep frustration at having come
so close to victory, and a good amount of irritation at a
human called William Riker.

    Riker shielded his eyes against the blinding flash on
the viewscreen as the Bird-of-Prey dissolved into spin-
ning debris.
 "Yes!" Data croweds exultant.
    Riker wasted no time celebrating, but pressed his
signaling comm badge.
    "La Forge to bridge. Commander, I've got a problem
down here. The magnetic interlocks have been ruptured.
I need to get the--"
    There came a hissing sound, as if the link had dis-
solved into faint static. Riker frowned. "Mr. La
Forge... ?"

169

    In the background, he heard Geordi shout, "Coolant
leak! Everybody out!" There followed the sounds of
people scrambling, shouting.
    "Bridge!" Geordi called in a voice sharply urgent and
breathless from running. "We've got a new problem.
We're about five minutes from a warp-core breach.
There's nothing I can do."
    "Understood," Riker said. He hesitated--an instant,
no more--then turned toward the helm. "Deanna,
evacuate everyone into the saucer section. Mr. Data,
prepare to separate the ship."
    He moved to the captain's chair with a sense of cold
unreality, and grimly pressed the control that sounded
the alarm he had hoped never to hear except in drills.

    Beneath the shelter of a tree, Picard paused to make
sure Soran was absorbed in his work, then tossed
another pebble at the stone arch. The small stone
missed its mark and bounced with a glimmer off the
forcefield.
    Soran glanced up; Picard sat nonchalantly on a nearby
rock, and waited until the scientist's attention was once
again diverted--then tossed a second pebble with the
determination of a child skipping stones. This one, too,
was repelled by the forcefield.
    He looked up to see Soran staring at him with irrita-
tion. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
    He said nothing; merely waited once more until Soran
returned his gaze to the launcher control panel, then
threw another pebble toward the arch.
    This one did not miss. The stone struck the sand, then
gave a little bounce forward and rolled beneath the arch
ú.. inside the forcefield.

    Picard did not permit his expression to shift, but
looked up casually as the scientist finished his work at
the launcher controls.
      Soran stepped down from the control panel and gazed
smugly at Picard. "Sure you won't come with me?"
 "Quite sure."
    Soran shrugged, but there was a faint wistful look in
his eye. "Your choice. Now, if you'll excuse me, Captain,
I have an appointment with eternity and I don't want to
be late."
    He turned and began to climb up the scaffolding
toward the top of the rock face.
    There was no time for further appeals, no time for
subterfuge. Picard dropped to the ground, rolled onto
his back, and wriggled headfirst beneath the arch. He
expelled all the air from his lungs, used his feet and
legs to press his body as hard into the sand as he
could.
    There was little room. He got his head through to the
forcefield's other side and slipped his shoulders beneath
the arch when the field flashed blindingly in front of his
chin. The jolt this time was agonizingly intense; as the
field crackled, he thrashed involuntarily, then stilled
himself, panting, and directed his clearing gaze upward,
toward the scaffolding.
    A blur of black and white, Soran paused in his
climbing.
    Picard pushed hard with his feet and slid forward
through the sand, but it was too late. Atop the scaffold-
ing, Soran wheeled, then pulled an object from his
hip.
    A disruptor, Picard realized with a rush of adrenaline.
He tried to roll, tried to wriggle free. But the rock

170                                                             171

trapped his feet, and held him fast as the world around
him once more faded into brilliant, deadly white.

    Geordi ran through the corridors of engineering on
pure adrenaline. Yet despite the chaos before him--
the blur of fleeing bodies, the shouts, the screaming
klaxonmhe heard nothing but his own ragged breath
and the pounding of his heart. His mind seemed de-
tached from his body, which operated on pure instinct;
the faster he moved, the more time seemed to slow,
the more he became overwhelmed by the sense of unreal-
ity.
    In his time aboard the Enterprise, he had lived through
experiences he could not have anticipated in his wildest
flights of fantasy. But in spite of all the drills, of all his
preparation for this terrible moment, he had never
believed it could happen: never believed that he would
ever see the deadly plume of white-hot gas spewing from
the warp core, that he would be the last to duck beneath
the emergency isolation door as it descended.
    His body was cold with fear, but his mind was utterly
calm, perceiving each instant with almost unbearable
clarity. He saw each millimeter of bulkhead, of deck,
each console as he passed with the acute awareness that
he would never see it again. He had confronted his own
impermanence against a backdrop of darkness, broken
only by Soran's soft voice and the ticking of a watch; and
he thought himself prepared now for death~~but he was
not prepared for the thought that the Enterprise herself
was mortal, that engineering, the part of the ship in
which he had spent the best years of his life, was about to
be destroyed in a blinding millisecond. He remembered
suddenly Montgomery Scott, and how the old engineer

had once spoken of the grief he'd experienced a~~er
losing the original Enterprise ....
    Beyond the stream of moving uniforms in front of
him, a buzzer sounded as a second isolation door began
slowly to descend. Geordi forced his legs impossibly
faster, knowing from years of drills that he would have
seconds, nineteen seconds, to make it past to the civilian
corridors beyond; in his mind, he heard the ticking of
Soran's watch, and the scientist's soft voice. Time is running out, Mr. La Forge ....
    The burst of speed caused him to step on the heel of a
dark-haired fleeing lieutenant--Farrell, with whom he'd
served for years, with whom he'd joked the past fifty
drills or so because somehow, they'd always managed to
wind up the last two to make it out of engineering. Plus
there was the fact that splay-footed Farrell ran like a
duck. A running joke, Farrell had called herself last time,
and Geordi had grimaced at the pun.
    Farrell stumbled, half turned; there was no humor in
her wide, stark eyes now. At the sight of La Forge behind
her, she proffered a hand, tried to pull Geordi along with
her.
    "No!" Geordi shouted, waving her off. "Keep mov-
ing!" The longer they took to evacuate, the more danger
the saucer would be in--if it could afford to wait.
    But Farrell remained until La Forge was alongside,
and they ran together at full tilt, knees and elbows
pumping.
    The isolation door was halfway to the deck by the time
they arrived. A small group of engineers crouched there,
struggling through. Geordi ducked and let himself run
into them, pushing them through the vanishing door-
way.

172                                                             173

    They spilled out onto the civilian corridor, where a
group of five-year-olds, some of them clutching hand-
made brightly colored paper mobiles, were emerging
from a classroom. Some of the children were saucer-
eyed, somber; others wept openly as their teachers, one
male and one female, tried to comfort them. Still others
cried out to their parents, who scooped up their children
and dashed down the corridor. The teachers, too, picked
up their charges and began running; Geordi slowed long
enough to grab a round-faced, almond-eyed girl clutch-
ing a stuffed bear.
    She hugged him tightly as he ran. He felt something
soft brush against his back, and realized, when the girl
began to wail, that she had dropped the bear.
    There was no time to retrieve it, no time even to gasp
words of comfort. The bear was already a part of the
past, of memory, like engineering; in time, the child
stopped her crying and buried her wet face in his neck.
Farrell ran alongside, a stunned, silent boy in her arms;
behind them, a scattered trail of colored paper fluttered
to the deck.
    In front, one of the teachers slowed to adjust her grip
on the child in her arm and half stumbled. Geordi
hurried beside her, offered his free arm. "Come on! Let's
go!"
    The woman began again to run, making her way with
the group until they came upon a small group waiting
behind others to enter an open Jeffries tube. Adults were
pushing children in first; one near-hysterical father
called to his uncertain child, who balked at entering the
tube: "Go on, Jeffie! Crawl! I'm right behind you... !"
    In frustration, the man finally pushed his son inside,
then crawled in himself. Geordi and Farrell stepped

174

forward and put the last two children inside the tube,
then helped the rest of the adults.
    And then it was down to himself and Farrell, who
hesitated and motioned for Geordi to go first. Aggra-
vated, Geordi pushed her inside, then climbed in him-
self. He paused to manually pull shut the hatch behind
him, with the acute awareness that he was closing off
what would soon become the past.
    As it shut with a solid, final-sounding clank, he hit his
comm badge. "That's it, bridgerowe're all out!" And he
cut off the communication abruptly, before Riker could
hear his shaky sigh.

    On the bridge, Riker released his own small sigh of
relief after hearing Geordi's message. He turned, inad-
vertently meeting Troi's gaze; she was watching him
tensely, waiting for the next command. Beside her, Data
seemed to be in control of himself--but looked like he'd
be sweating if he could. He glanced up solemnly from his
console.
 "One minute to warp-core breach."
    "Begin separation sequence," Riker told him, then
turned to Troi. "Full impulse power once we're clear."
    The android began to work. Riker watched the
viewscreen, which revealed an aft view of the Enterprise
as the saucer section slowly disengaged. He began silent-
ly counting the seconds, realizing with each passing
instant that they were cutting it dangerously close.
    "Separation complete," Data said at last. "Ten sec-
Onds to warp-core breach."
    Troi fingered her controls. "Engaging impulse
engines..."
 On the viewscreen, the image of the battle section

175

began slowly to recede. Riker continued his silent count-
down, bracing in his chair for the explosion he knew was
coming.
    Despite his anticipation, he flinched at the bright
blaze of light as the battle section erupted. The ship
shuddered; but they were all right, Riker realized with a
surge of relief. The shields had held ....
    And then the deck lurched forward, throwing Riker
from his chair. He fiailed, striking the back of Troi's
chair with his shoulder, and wound up on all fours. He
tried to push himself up to a standing positionmand
was immediately thrown to his knees again. With diffi-
culty, he crawled back to his chair, trying to interpret the
strange sensation. The ship felt wrong. She was shudder-
ing, rolling--not the way she did under fire. It almost
felt like... free fall.
    He caught the arm of his chair and hoisted himself up.
"Report!"
    He turned in time to see Troi grasp the console and
pull herself back into her chair. She stared down at the
helm, and a look of utter alarm spread over her features.
"Helm controls are off-line!"
    A sudden terrible certainty seized him, made him
glance up at the viewscreen. Riker was a man well suited
to command, a man who had never buckled under
pressure, never allowed himself an instant's hesitation in
the deadliest of situations. Yet the sight on the screen left
him speechless with horror.
     Troi followed his stricken gaze and saw it, too' the
 surface of Veridian III, hurtling toward them with
 impossible swiftness.
  No one on the bridge uttered a sound at the sight; no

one except Data, whose spontaneous, heartfelt utterance
spoke for them all.
 "Oh, shit..."

    As he crawled through the Jeffries tube with Farrell's
shadowy form in front of him, Geordi began to feel his
heartbeat and breathing return to a normal rhythm.
    They'd made it to the saucer; it was beginning to look
like they might live after all. But he did not slow.
Evacuation procedures required that they head for the
most protected area of the ship and prepare for the shock
wave from the warp-core explosion.
    It all depended on how much distance they managed
to put between themselves and the battle section. Geordi
tried to remember how long it had been since they had
evacuated engineering. Three minutes? Four?
    He had his answer as the tube vibrated beneath him
and pitched to the right, causing him and everyone
inside it to fall onto their sides and slide. It lasted a split
second, no more.
    Thank God, Geordi almost said, thinking it was
over--that they had made it through the worst of it.
    But before he could get the words out of his mouth,
the ship lurched again~~in a strange, accelerating move-
ment that did not ease, only shuddered, harder and
harder.
    "What the hell... ?" In the dimness, Farrell's profile
turned toward him.
    He knew at once, with sickening, heart-stopping cer-
tainty, what had happened: The blast had slammed the
ship into the nearby planet's orbit. There was a chance,
if the Klingons' attack hadn't damaged the lateral thrust-

176                                                                177

ers, that parts of the saucer might survive the impact.
Even so, many would diemand there was no way to
predict who those might be.
  Time is running out, Mr. La Forge ....
    Wails and panicked murmurs rippled through the tube
as those inside froze in horror; a child began to shriek.
Geordi summoned the mental image of Picard at his
most authoritarian, then thundered, "Keep going!"
    Slowly, the dark figures in front of him began moving
again. Within seconds, he was grasping Farrell's hand
and emerging from the tube into the brightly lit corridor.
The ship was rocking, vibrating so hard by this time that
he had trouble keeping his balance; it felt like standing
on the holodeck version of the nineteenth-century sail-
ing ship--in the middle of a typhoon.
    Somehow, he managed to stay on his feet, to direct the
tide of moving bodies down the corridor. Before him,
the two teachers hurried, crouching over their young
charges, arms spread like sheltering wings, pushing them
along. Geordi found the hand of the dark-haired girl
who had lost the bear and ran to the front of the group,
shouting directions.
    "Over here!" He waved toward the nearest officer's
quarters. "This way!"
    He reached the entrance first and paused to let go of
the little girl's hand; a teacher clasped it and hurried
past, to the safety of the living room, where she braced
herself and the children with her against the carpet and
bolted furniture. Geordi remained in the doorway, push-
ing bodies through, gesturing for those still in the
corridor to hurry inside. Farrell joined him and began to
help directing traffic.

    "Sarah!" A desperate-eyed father swooped upon a
weeping golden-haired child just before she was shoved
inside the quarters, and carried her away.
    Geordi and Farrell kept working until all the corridor
was clear, then ran inside themselves to huddle with the
crowd of adults and children. Geordi fell onto the
nearest spot of bare carpet, and found himself staring
over at the glistening, tear-filled eyes of the teddy-bear
girl, who lay beside him. Her face was flushed, damp, her
dark, straight hair tousled; but it was the misery in her
dark eyes that filled Geordi with a compassion that
made him forget his own fear and see only hers. He
reached for her small, dimpled hand, leaned close to her
ear so that she could hear him above the klaxons and the
shuddering ship. "It's all right. It's going to be all right.
Just hang on and don't let go .... "
    "My mommy," she whimpered. "I don't know where
she is .... "
 "Where does she work?" Geordi asked.
 "Engineering."
    "Then she's okay." He patted her silken hair. "Every-
one made it out of engineering. I made sure of it."
    "But where is she?" Tears spilled onto her full cheeks.
"I couldn't find her .... "
    "I bet I know where she is," he said, and almost
smiled at the sudden hope on her face. He stroked her
hair once more. "Somewhere nearby, worrying about
you."
    "Are we going to die?" she asked suddenly, with such
matter-of-factness that he was taken aback.
    "No," he said, feigning confidence. "This is the safest
part of the ship. It's going to be all right."

178                                                                179

    It was a lie, of course; whatever happened would not
be all right. But there was nothing more he could do to
help the children or himself; they were all entirely at the
mercy of forces greater than themselves. His fear gave
way to acceptance. He settled down onto the soft,
shuddering carpet with a deeply weary sigh, and waited.

TWELVE

On the bridge, Deanna Troi pressed her upper body
against the shaking helm console and gripped the edges
with all her strength to keep from being thrown forward.
The ship's rocking had become so intense that she
clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Yet
she felt oddly calm, detached; the dizzying sight of
Veridian III rushing toward them evoked a terror so
primal that it was entirely physical. Her skin was cold,
damp, her pulse racing like the ship--but her mind was
too numbed to register fear.
    Save for the screaming red-alert klaxon and the rum-
bling of the ship, there was silence; all on the bridge
waited as Data worked his console in an attempt to slow
the Enterprise's momentum. It was, Troi knew, the
difference between annihilation and survival, and the
tension in the android's face reflected that. She pushed
herself up far enough to study his shifting expression. It
was like focusing in on everyone's emotions: fear, re-
pressed panic, determination, faint hope...
    She glanced behind her at Worf, who did not allow
himself to meet her gaze. Troi understood; she sensed no

180                                                                181

fear emanating from the Klingon, only resolve to meet
death bravely, and a stirring of pride. If death came, it
would be an end fitting for a warrior. He would waste no
time in remorserebut Troi could not help feeling disap-
pointment that there might be no more time for them.
    She turned her head then, and shared a look with Will.
At the sight of her face, he allowed his command
demeanor to soften for a fleeting instant. She did not
quite smile; she could read his expression so well that it
was hardly necessary to read his emotions. There was
regret in his eyes, and a light that said he would have
liked to have had the time to prove Picard's vision of the
future wrong.
    That future certainly seemed wrong now, in the face of
one that said they might all die together. Impact would
pulverize the ship unless something could be done to
ease it. Yet that future, too, seemed wrong.
    Data looked up from his console at last, and the faint
trace of relief on his fear-stricken face gave her an
inkling of hope.
    "I have rerouted auxiliary power to the lateral thrust-
ers," he called to Riker. "Attempting to level our
descent..."
  "Will it be enough?" Riker shouted.
    "Uncertain, sir. The thrusters have sustained minor
damage. There is no time to assess it and attempt
repairs. I estimate a forty-percent chance that they will
fail .... "
    "And sixty percent that they'll hold. I'll take those
odds." Riker leaned to one side, struggling to hold on
with one hand while the other pressed the comm control.
"All hands brace for impact!"
  Troi glanced up for one final look at the viewscreen,

and recoiled in surprise. Veridian III's green and blue
surface could no longer be seen--only lavender sky.
    She leaned forward onto her console. The ship's
shuddering increased until she could no longer think,
could scarcely even draw a breath~could only hold on
blankly, mindlessly, as around her, consoles erupted
into flame ....
    At a sudden, high-pitched screaming, she tried to raise
her head; gravity pressed it back down. She pressed one
cheek against the console and turned her face in the
direction of the shriek--an almost humanoid cry.
    Amid the vibrating, smoking blur that was the bridge,
she saw the scream's source: a far bulkhead crumpling,
like paper being slowly crushed. It was the sound of
metal buckling, of the ship screaming. She looked at the
viewscreen and saw a jumble of green and brown.
    The jolt began at her feet, as intense, as icy-hot as
lightning, and spread upward to her skull. Impact, she
realized, and at the second the thought occurred to her,
it was almost instantly blotted out, shaken loose from
her stunned brain and replaced by darkness as she
hurtled up and forward, toward the screen ....

    Soran raised his disruptor and squinted at the cloud of
dust and smoke rising from the collapsed rock archway
where Picard had wriggled beneath the forcefield. The
scientist jumped down a level, weapon ready, his mind
full of fury; there was no time to deal with distractions!
He should have killed the human outright, when he first
came, to save himself the annoyance now.
    But no, you had to be softhearted. And why? You'll soon
have the blood of two hundred thirty million on your
head.... What~ one more?

182                                                                  183

    A breeze stirred, dispersing the haze to reveal a
scorched hole gouged in the earth where the captain had
lain.
  But no Picard ....
    Frustrated, Soran peered around him at the shifting
wisps of smoke. No sign of the captain ....
    But the sky above his head glimmered, with a sudden,
distantly familiar splendor that made Soran catch his
breath and look up.
    A snake of brilliant rainbow light thrashed across the
sky, so bedazzling him with its promise, its beauty, that
his wide eyes filled at once with tears.
    No time. There was no time to search for Picard, no
time to do anything save scramble up the scaffolding and
prepare himself for escape from this temporal hell.
    Soran climbed, eyes blinded by the ribbon's blazing
glory, by tears. His heart, once heavy at the thought of
the deaths of Veridian IV's inhabitants, of Picard, of
those aboard the Enterprise, now seemed light, absolved
of any wrong by the coming wonder of what he was
about to embrace.  Leandra...
    What was the Terran parable? A jewel, a pearl of great
price. Worth anything, everything, to possess. Surely he,
above all others, understood the tale. The nexus was
worth any number of lives; who could put a price on
eternal paradise? He smiled thinly as he pulled himself
up onto the next highest peak, and stepped quickly onto
the narrow metal scaffolding that bridged two plateaus.
    Soon; soon he would be with Leandra, and as he
pulled out his pocket watch--the only tangible remnant
he had of her in this hellish universe--he stared into its
blank, crystalline face and instead saw hers.

184

Halfway across the scaffolding, he glanced up, startled
--not into his dead wife's face, but Picard's.
    With pure, mindless instinct, Soran raised the disrup-
tor to fire, but Picard moved faster, with a desperation
that came close to matching Soran's own vicious need.
The captain seized the wrist of the hand that held the
disruptor and smashed it fiercely once, twice, three times
against the cool metal railing, until Soran's own hand
betrayed him and surrendered its grip. The disruptor
hurtled downward, coming to rest several meters below.
    Soran never noticed what became of the watch; rage
and hatred and desire galvanized him. He had never
been a man given to personal violence, but now he struck
out at Picard with brutal, killing force, slamming his fist
into the captain's jaw hard enough to break them both.
    Again. Again. Again he struck, each time astounded to
find his target still standing, and striking back.
    But Picard's blows were tempered with reason, com-
passion; they were, Soran realized with irony, the blows
of a man who was determined not to kill.
    And that would be his undoing. Pity, compassion.
What use did they serve in a universe intent on devour-
ing its own children?
    Soran struck out again with unrestrained fury, shriek-
ing at the unfairness of the situation, at the implacable
passage of time. His fist once again connected with the
captain's jaw. This time the air rushed from the human's
lungs with an audible hiss as Picard was hurled back-
ward against the metal scaffolding.
    Victory, Soran thought, and moved in for the final
blow--only to stagger backward and drop to his knees
when Picard lashed out with legs and feet.
    And with a swift, rolling movement, the captain was
standing before him again.

185

    Soran looked at him with infinite hatred. Eighty years
he had waited to get to this moment. Eighty years...
    As Picard lunged at him again, Soran embraced him;
together they moved in a brief, deadly dance upon the
slender, shuddering scaffold. And then Soran embraced
him more tightly, drawing him forward, and slammed
his own forehead against the captain's.
    Picard lost his balance and fell. Soran drew back,
breathless at the sudden triumph, and clung to the
railing as the human dropped several meters down into a
sandy crevice.
    Alive, Soran judged, but stunned. All fury in him
evaporated at once, replaced by a dawning euphoria.
    He gazed up at the ribbon of light crackling through
the sky--a great serpent, but one that would lead to
paradise mand listened to the distant hum of the launch-
er as it prepared to send the probe to its final destination.
  Seconds now. Only seconds.
  Leandra, my darling...
    Soran moved swiftly across the bridge toward the
higher platform he had placed with infinite care, at
the precise spot the ribbon would intersect Veridian's
mountains.
    Movement beneath him: He glanced down to see
Picard lift his head and gaze up at the coming splendor.
The captain stirred feebly, then sagged once more, while
beneath them both the launcher whirred as the probe
slid into position.
    There came a sudden roar as the probe thundered, like
a great sleek black bird, into the sky.
    Out of time, Picard. You, me, the universe... we've all
run out of time...
  Soran stared after it, speechless with joy.

    Picard stared after it, too, kneeling in the sand beside
the launcher. The probe arced in a perfect trajectory
upward, toward the shining sun; Picard shaded his eyes
and watched until it disappeared from view, then
pushed himself slowly to his feet.
 He did not intend to die on his knees.
    Bitter enough to face his own death, so close to the loss
of Robert and Ren~; but to know that he had failed his
crew, who might be caught by the coming shock wave,
and two hundred thirty million unknowing souls on the
next planet...
    Overhead, the sky faded to the odd, faux-twilight gray
of a solar eclipse. The trees surrounding them, which
had rustled with animal life, went abruptly silent; a
solitary bird released a tremulous cry that echoed off the
nearby mountains, then fell quiet. As Picard stood
gazing upward, Soran reclimbed the scaffolding against
the backdrop of darkening sky, streaked with jagged,
writhing energy. Once atop the pinnacle, the scientist
raised his face toward the heavens; the glow from the
ribbon lit his features, revealing the ecstatic, beatific
expression of a saint.
    In the gathering gloom, the wind picked up quickly
and began to whip up dust. The ribbon neared, illumi-
nating the plateau with unearthly light, filling the air
with a strangely electrical charge, one that smelled of a
recent lightning strike, one that made the hair on the
back of Picard's neck rise. He instinctively backed away
until his back pressed against the scaffolding.
    There was nowhere to run, nowhere to flee. He shut
his eyes, grimacing at the airborne sand that stung his
face, at the piercing crackle of the ribbon, at the light so
dazzling, so colorful, it pained him despite his closed
eyelids.

186                                                                187

    And then the ribbon intensified beyond all human
capacity to bear; he cried out in agony at its deafening
roar, its sheer brilliance, its blinding beauty.
    And just as suddenly, there was no Picard, no Soran,
no Veridian, no self or other. Only darkness...

    Deanna Troi inhaled a lungful of smoke and coughed,
then winced at the sudden spasm in her ribs. The sharp-
ness of it helped clear her head; she stirred, and realized
that she had been thrown from her chair and now lay
atop the console, with her arms and shoulders dangling
over. Data sat slumped forward over the navigation con-
sole beside her, his hands still gripping her legs; obvi-
ously, he had kept her from flying into the viewscreen.
Her movement seemed to revive him; he straightened,
released his hold, and helped her from the console.
    "Counselor? Are you all right?" Data seemed un-
harmed, but his hair was tousled, his eyes wide with
shock.
    She nodded, even though her legs trembled beneath
her, and grimaced at another stab of pain in her rib and
the complaints issuing from torn muscles in her shoul-
ders. Blessedly, the ship was silent and still, the ground
beneath her feet solid.
    The bridge was veiled in smoke from smoldering
consoles but, strangely, no longer as dark. She squinted
at the glare, and realized that rays of light filtered
through the haze. At first she thought that auxiliary
lighting had miraculously been restored; and then she
gazed upward, beyond the layer of smoke, at the sunlight
shining through the shattered dome above the bridge. As
she watched, two birds perched on the edge and stared
down at those below.
  "I think we've landed," Troi whispered--to no one.

Data had already moved off and was helping others to
their feet. She turned and saw Worf behind her, pushing
himself to a sitting position on the deck; clearly, he had
been thrown over the tactical console.
    And then she saw Riker, lying faceup and motionless
on the deck near the overturned command chair. His
head was cocked at an odd angle, his eyes open and
staring blankly up at the shattered dome.
    "My God--Will!" She ran to him, seized by the dread-
ful certainty that he was dead, and fell to her knees.
    "I'm all right," he croaked. "Just enjoying the
view..." He sat up slowly, gingerly. "Report..."
    Data emerged from the haze, with Worf beside him.
"All systems are off-line, sir," the android said. "I do not
know how the rest of the ship has fared. But there are no
casualties on the bridge. Only minor injuries."
    "Good," Riker said. He reached for the back of the
overturned command chair and, ignoring Data and
Troi's offers of assistance, pulled himself up. "Evacuate
the bridge and organize all able-bodied personnel into
search-and-rescue parties."
    "Aye, sir." Data turned and headed for the emergency
exit; Worf and Troi followed... and paused as the sun-
light faded, and the bridge began to grow ominously
dark.
    Sunset, she thought swiftly; perhaps it was only the
approach of night. But the darkness descended too
suddenly, unnaturally, and as she hesitated, the ground
began to rumble beneath her feet.
    "Soran," Will whispered, with such defeat, such bit-
terness that it stole Troi's breath.
    The shock wave, she realized. Soran had succeeded in
launching the probe. They had endured the crash and
survived, only to be killed in the shock wave.

188                                                                189

    "So," Worf said quietly beside her. "The captain was
right; the future is changed." He paused. "It is not a dis-
honorable way to die." He turned to Troi and said, even
more softly, "If you are to die, I am glad to die with you."
    "Same here." Riker forced a smile, but his eyes were
hollow. "I wonder if the captain..." He let his thought
trail, unfinished.
    She tried to return his smile, to look into the eyes of
her friends one last time, and could not; the darkness
grew, shrouding his face and Worf's until she could see
them no more, until the bridge was veiled in blackness.
    The rumbling grew until it felt like a mighty earth-
quake. She staggered, reached out and clutched Worf's
arm to steady herself. He put it around her and held her
tightly.
    "But this isn't right," she said suddenly, with inexpli-
cable conviction--the same conviction she had felt
when Picard had told her his experience of the future:
her death, and the years of enmity between Worf and
Will. She had known in her heart that that future would
not, could not come to pass.
    Just as certainly now, she knew that this future was
simply wrong, that she and the Enterprise crew had never
been meant to die together like this ....
    "It's not right." Her words were swallowed up in the
shock wave's deafening roar. The earth swelled like a
wave, pitching her and Worf to the deck.
    "It's not right," she repeated, even as the ship around
them began to vibrate and the ground beneath grew hot.
It was her last thought, even as the bulkheads around her
began to glow and her uniform burst into flame.
  It's not right
  It's not right
  It's not right ....

190

THIRTEEN

Darkness. Picard drew in a breath and gathered himself;
for a moment of dizzying disorientation, he could not
remember who he was, where he had come from. Soran,
Veridian III, the energy ribbon--the memories seemed
as distant to him as an ill-remembered dream.
    Most disorienting of all, he did not know where he
was. He was not blind; his vision was obscured by what
felt to be a simple cloth blindfold, which he could not
remove because someonemwith a warm, gentle touch--
held his arms.
    Smaller hands tugged at his uniform at the waist, at
the knees, leading him slowly across thick carpet. He
knew at once by the smell, by the feel of the floor
beneath his boots that this was not the Enterprise.
    Yet he felt as comfortable here as there; perhaps more
so. Despite his confusion, he felt no fear.
    A heavy door creaked open, releasing with it a waft of
scented air. Picard filled his lungs with it, savoring,
identifying: Pine. Nutmeg. Apples. Cinnamon. And a
smell he had not experienced since his childhood: A
roasting goose ....

191

  He was guided forward a few more steps; then,
abruptly, the hands released him. He paused, wavering.
  "What's going on? Where am IT' There was no
  indignation in his question, only curiosity.
    A tug at the back of his head. The blindfold dropped.
Picard blinked at the kaleidoscopic blur of color and
light as his surroundings came into focus.
    It was a large, high-ceilinged family room, twenty-
fourth-century French from the looks of it, and in its
center was a huge Christmas tree asparkle with light.
Picard gaped in pleasure. Clustered beneath the tree--
which towered at least a meter above him--lay presents
of every conceivable size and shape, wrapped in gleam-
ing gold and red and green foil. Branches of fresh holly
garlanded the wooden staircase banisters and the stone
mantel above the hearth, where a decorated Yule log
blazed.
    And in the midst of this holiday splendor, five children
stood, smiling and expectant, their bright gazes all
focused on him.
    Picard looked at each of them with wonder. These
children were strangers; he had never seen them before,
and yet... he knew them. Two girls and three boys,
each of them staring lovingly back with his eyes, his
chin, his smile...
    Here was Olivia, the eldest at thirteen, grown sudden-
ly tall and willowy this past year; and here was Matthew,
just seven, still chubby-cheeked, with his mother's bril-
liant mind for mathematics. And here was Madison,
aged ten, with his father's dark hair and love of military
history, and Thomas, his twin--and Mimi, the baby at
five, the much-adored apple of her father's eye.
  He stared at them in awe and realized that this was his

192

home, these were his children, and that he loved each of
them with an intensity and tenderness he had never
before known.
  "Go on ....  "
    A soft voice at his elbow took him aback. He whirled,
and saw his gentle captor--golden-haired, straight,
slender--smiling at him with the same indulgent love in
her green eyes.
    He had never met her; yet he knew that this beautiful
creature was Elise, his wife of the past sixteen years. And
she had spoken to him in French.
    "Say something," Elise urged, with fond impatience,
and rested a hand lightly upon his shoulder. "They're
waiting."
    He released a breath, overwhelmed, and then a soft,
uncertain laugh. "I... I don't know what to say .... "
    Olivia--known, for good reason, Picard knew, to her
brothers as "Bossy"--spoke up. "Say Merry Christmas,
Papa!"
    "Merry..." He faltered as his gaze swept around the
room." Christmas "
    The youngest, Mimi, let out a cry of pleasure and
began to applaud. The other children followed suit; Elise
leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. Dazed,
he let her lead him to a large, overstuffed chair--a
respectable copy of Robert's chair at the family estate,
the one he never permitted anyone else to sit in, not even
Ren~... and certainly not his brother, Jean-Luc. Picard
had privately sworn to himself that, when he retired, he
would have a similar chair made, and put in his living
room.
 And here it was.
 He settled into it with a satisfied sigh--it was every bit

193

as comfortable as he had imagined--and watched as the
children dashed over to the tree and began noisily
distributing presents.
  This one's for you ....
  Where's mine?
 I hope this is the book I asked for.... .. .
  Take this one to Papa ....
    Contentment covered him like a blanket. He shared a
blissful look with Elise, then gazed back at the bustling,
laughing children with a sense of such complete joy that
a smile spread, unbidden, across his lips.
    Little Mimi bounded over to him, her round face
flushed, her long golden curls bouncing, and put a
dimpled hand upon the arm of his chair. "Isn't the tree
beautiful, Papa?"
    Picard reached out and stroked her impossibly soft
hair. "Oh yes," he answered, surprised at how easily--
how naturally--the words came to him, at how utterly
natural it all seemed, as though he had spent every
moment of the last sixteen years in this house with this
woman, as though he had loved this child from the day
she was born. "Yes, it's astonishingly beautiful. All of
it."
    As he spoke, the other children gathered round; Mat-
thew, standing with almost military stiffness, produced a
beribboned package from behind his back and handed it
to his father. "This is from all of us."
    "Thank you," Picard said, with genuine sincerity. "I
can't imagine what it is .... "
    He pulled off the ribbon, tore away the paper wrap-
ping, and opened the box. Inside, cradled in tissue, was a
curved instrument of gleaming polished brass. Picard

lifted it carefully and held it to the light. It was a
beautiful piece, one that had been used by some
nineteenth-century sailor to navigate by the stars; no
question of it. A grin of pure delight spread slowly over
his lips.
 "It's a sack-tent!" Thomas cried excitedly.
    Picard chuckled. "You mean a sextant. And it's a
handsome one at that... from about eighteen-twenty,
I'd say. Wherever did you find it?"
 Mimi tilted her head coyly. "It's a secret."
    "Oh, a secret." Picard's smile grew conspiratorial.
"Well, that makes it a doubly special gift." He shared a
look with each child. "Thank you. Thank you all .... "
    Impulsively, Mimi crawled into the chair and hugged
his neck. The others swarmed in to bestow what hugs
and kisses they could manage.
 Merry Christmas, Papa.
 I love you, Father.
 Merry Christmas...
    Joy enveloped him, saturated him, so completely that
it seemed tangible, something he could reach out and
grasp hold of....
    It was like being inside joy. As if joy were a real thing
that I couM wrap around myself....
    Guinan's image flashed in his mind. They had been
talking long ago, in some other universe, about someone,
about... Soran.
    He pushed the thought away immediately, forced
himself to return to the present, to the love and happi-
ness that surrounded him.
 Mimi scrambled from his lap and hurried with the

194                                                                 195

others back toward the sorted piles of presents. Smiling
at the scene, Elise stepped beside the arm of his chair.
    'Tll go get dinner ready. They'll be starving in a
minute." She turned, then swiveled her head to speak
over her shoulder. "Besides, Robert and the others are
due any second."
 Picard glanced up sharply. "Robert... ?"
    She gave him a mildly curious look. "Of course. It
wouldn't be Christmas without one of your brother's
famous buche de Noels."
    Sudden tears stung his eyes; he blinked them back,
swallowed hard, found his voice. His heartbeat quick-
ened with abrupt anticipation. "And Ren~. Will he
and..." He paused, marveling at the memories that
came from some mysterious place outside his own
recollection. "... Katya be coming?"
    Yes, Katya. That was her name; a tall, red-haired
young woman with striking Asian features. He had
attended their wedding two years before; Mimi had been
flower girl.
    "Of course. Marie says they have a surprise they'll be
sharing with us."
    Mimi glanced up from the mound of shredded Christ-
mas wrapping at her feet. "A surprise? More presents?"
    Elise directed a grin at her daughter. "Oh, they'll bring
presents, young lady, don't you worry. But the
surprise... I'm afraid you'll have another eight months
or so before you get to play with that one." She shot
Picard a knowing smile and wink before leaving.
    He settled back into his chair and watched the chil-
dren playing with their new toys. The pleasure was
intoxicating; he wanted nothing more than to sit and

196

revel in this scene for the rest of eternity. Everything his
gaze rested on brought delight; there was Mimi enjoying
the interactive handheld encyclopedia he had chosen for
her, and wrapped with care. There, too, beneath the tree
was the tiny gold-foil box Elise had not yet discovered,
the one he would present to her tonight after the children
were asleep, the one that contained his grandmother's
heirloom diamond pendant.
    And the sparkling treemeach ornament hanging there
had a history of its own. There were many priceless
antique decorations from his parents' tree; Robert had
finally been coaxed into parting with a few, he could see.
He smiled at the reminders of his boyhood. There was
the old-fashioned silvered-glass Papa Noel, with the
same small chunk that had been missing from his nose
ever since nine-year-old Robert had, in his excitement to
get to his presents, inadvertently toppled the tree. And
there were Maman's white doves, made from real feath-
ers, with holly sprigs in their beaks. And there...
    He blinked and leaned forward to better see an
ornament near the top of the tree, one he did not
recognize. It was a hollow glass ball, lit internally by
what appeared to be a tiny star in its center. As he
watched, the tiny star flickered, dimmed, then darkened
altogether, radiating a wave of shimmering light out-
ward.
 Picard stiflened in his chair.
    The shock wave. He was safe now, but somewhere, the
Veridian star had been destroyed, and hundreds of
millions had died in the resulting shock wave.
 Perhaps even those aboard the Enterprise.

197

    The thought so disrupted the tranquil joy of his
surroundings that it seemed unbearable. To escape, he
rose and walked over to a nearby window. Outside, snow
fell steadily, quietly, from a leaden sky, blanketing the
French countryside in white. He let the sight soothe him
for a time.
    And then his eye caught sight of it again, reflected in
the windowpane: the dying star inside the glass sphere.
    He could not escape it. As much as he wanted to merge
again with the sense of utter belonging, utter happiness,
he could not ignore the fact that it had been purchased
with blood.
    Two hundred thirty million lives--because he had
failed to stop Soran.
    "No," he said, to the seductive tug that pulled him
back toward the children, toward joy. "This isn't right.
This can't be real .... "
 "It's as real as you want it to be."
    He started at the sound of a voice--a truly familiar
voice, one he had known from another reality. He
wheeled and saw Guinan, looking much as she had the
day he had questioned her about Soran.
    "Guinan... what's going on? Where am I?" It had
occurred to him that this was a strange mental state
induced by dying... but he was not dead. His flesh
seemed to him perfectly solid.
    Her answer was the one he expected. "You're in the
nexus."
    "This..." He swept his gaze over the family room.
"... is the nexus?"
 "For you," she said. "This is where you wanted to be."
    He shook his head. "But I never had a wife, children, a
home like this .... "

    A knowing smile spread across her lips. "Enjoy them,
Jean-Luc."
    "Guinan..." He frowned at a sudden realization as
the memory of his former life came flooding back.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were on the
Enterprise."
    "I am on the Enterprise. I am also here." At his
puzzled look, her smile widened. "Think of me
as... an echo of the person you know. A part of her she
left behind."
 "Left behind... ?"
    "When the Enterprise-B beamed us off the Lakul, we
were partially in the nexus. The transporters locked on
to us... but somehow everyone left a part of them-
selves behind."
 "Soran... ?" Picard asked.
 "All of us," she said softly.
 "Where is he now?"
 "Wherever he wanted to be ...."
 "Papa!"
    Picard turned at the sound of Thomas's voice. The
boy was constructing a building out of small interlocking
blocks--a toy his father had played with for many happy
hours as a child. "Papa, help me build my castle."
    He sighed, tempted to return to the fantasy's warm
embrace, but gathered himself. "In a few minutes," he
said, smiling at his son.
    He turned back to Guinan and said, awed, "These are
my children. My children..."
    She eyed them fondly. "Yeah. They're great, aren't
they? You can go back and see them born... go forward
and see your grandchildren. Time has no meaning here."
Elise poked her head in the room, then disappeared

198                                                               199

just as quickly. "Dinner's ready! Let's go! Your aunt and
uncle and cousins are here, and they're hungry!"
    Happy shouts came from around the tree; toys were
dropped, crumpled paper kicked carelessly aside as the
children scrambled toward the dining room.
    Picard glanced toward the adjacent room and caught a
glimpse of shadowy figures moving toward a long table.
One of them laughed--an abrupt, deep, throaty sound.
    Robert. He closed his eyes, struggled to compose
himself.
    He was in the nexus; which meant that two hundred
thirty million innocents had died. And for what? None
of this was real. Robert and Ren~ were not really here,
really alive. In reality, he would be assumed dead,
destroyed in the shock wave. And Lursa and B'Etor
might very well possess the ability to cause such massive
destruction again.
    The youngest boy, Matthew, lingered, and took his
father's hand in his small warm one. "Papa... are you
coming?"
    Picard gazed down into his child's earnest, delicate
face. A rush of tenderness overwhelmed him, filled him
with a contentment, a peace beyond that induced by any
drug. He turned his back to Guinan and let Matthew
lead him one step, another, toward the laughter and
happy voices emanating from the dining room.
    On the way, they passed the tree. Once more, the
flickering light inside the glass globe caught his eye.
    He stopped in midstride. Matthew looked up at him,
quizzical.
  "Is something wrong, Papa?"
    "No." Picard bent down toward the boy and rested a
hand briefly, lightly on his cheek. "I'm fine, Matthew. I

200

just have to... hide Maman's present so I can give it to
her after dinner. Go on. Go on without me .... "
    Matthew's hazel eyes, so like his father's, held such
innocence, such loving concern that for an instant,
Picard faltered, tempted.
    And then he straightened, and took his hand away.
Matthew bounded off into the other room.
    Picard turned. "Guinan," he said with sudden urgen-
cy, "can I leave the nexus?"
    She blinked, astounded. "Why would you want to
leave?"
 "Can I?"
 "Yes," she allowed slowly. "Where would you go?"
 He hesitated, confused. "I don't understand."
    "I told you, time has no meaning here. If you leave,
you can go anywhere... any time."
    A faint smile spread over his face. "I know exactly
where I want to go--and when. Back to that mountain-
top on Veridian Three--before Soran put out the star. I
have to stop him." He hesitated. "Only tell me before I
go... Only a part of you is here. So you're also on the
ship. If you're still here... then the ship is all right, isn't
it? It must have outrun the shock wave."
    All traces of the smile ebbed from her face; she gazed
at him solemnly a time before answering, "No, Jean-
Luc."
    He closed his eyes again as the sound of Robert's
laughter wafted from the dining room once more. When
he could speak again, he whispered, "Then it's done. I'm
going back."
    She laid a hand gently on his forearm. "What makes
you think things will be any different this time? What if
you fail again?"

201

    "You're right." He straightened, squared his shoul-
ders. "I'll need help. Guinan--will you come back with
me? Together, we couldre"
 "I can't leave. I'm already there, remember?"
    He bowed his head in frustration, casting about for
some other option, some other way; when he looked up,
Guinan was smiling enigmatically.
 "But I know just the guy .... "

    "My God," McCoy breathed with delight, peering
through the cracked doorway. "They're all out there,
Jim. It looks like a Starfleet retiree convention."
    James Kirk gazed another second through his trans-
parent bedroom wall at the glittering view of San
Francisco Bay at night. Boats twinkled as they skimmed
across the water, which lay black against an indigo sky.
He turned, smiling. "Spock made it?"
    The doctor, his nose pressed to the crack in the door,
wore the expression of kid sneaking a peek at the
presents under the tree before Christmas morning. He
seemed to have grown younger in recent years;
grandparenthood and retirement sat well with him. His
hair was still completely silvered, but the shadows
beneath his eyes seemed to have eased, the lines on his
brow to be less deeply etched. "He made it, all right.
Sitting right up front. Scotty's there with him--and
Uhura and Chekov." He crinkled his forehead, squint-
ing. "But who's the woman sitting on his other side?"
    "Woman?" Jim strode over to the doctor's side.
"You're kidding .... "
    "Tall woman. Reddish hair. You mean she's no rela-
tion?" McCoy angled aside to let Jim take a look.
He put one eye to the crack and stared. Beyond, the

spacious living room had been cleared of its usual
furniture and garlanded with white roses and gardenias;
a small podium had been set at one end, and in front of it
stood rows of chairsmall of them occupied. It was a
room he had also loved, but had never appreciated as
much as this moment, when it was filled with those who
were most important to him. He grinned at the sight of
his friends in the front row; all of them looked as rested
and content as McCoy. Even Spock, who appeared as
always ageless, without a single wrinkle or strand of gray.
The Vulcan sat one seat from the aisle, with Scott on one
side--and the mysterious woman on the other. She was
human, striking, lean and light-eyed, with a long veil of
copper-gold hair that fell straight to her shoulders. As
Jim watched, she leaned over and whispered something
into Spock's ear; the Vulcan listened attentively, impas-
sively, then nodded.
    "I'll be damned," Jim said softly, and grinned with
pure pleasure. "He asked if he could bring a friend .... "
    "A friend?" The doctor pushed him aside in order to
take a second look. "You mean he brought a date?"
    "I didn't say that," Jim protested, quite unable to
erase the smile on his lipsmnot just because of Spock
and the woman, but because of everything: the fact that
it was his wedding day, and he was here with McCoy, in
this wonderful place .... "You're jumping to conclu-
sions, as usual. Maybe she's a... fellow scientist."
    "In a pig's eye." McCoy glanced up from the doorway
and looked up at Jim with bright blue eyes--eyes
happier and more mischievous than Jim ever remem-
bered them being. He looked the way Jim feltm
intoxicated with pure joy, delighted by everything sur-
rounding him--even though each of them had only had

202                                                               203

a sip of the vintage Dom Perignon the doctor had
smuggled into the room. "Never thought I'd see the
daymSpock bringing a date. I'm gonna tell Carol to
throw him the bouquet."
 "She's not carrying a bouquet," Jim said.
    "She ought to. There are enough flowers out there. She
could impro~" McCoy started as the door was pushed
partway open from the outside. "Well, I'll be. The
preacher's finally here."
He stepped back to permit Hikaru Sulu into the room.
"Captain." Jim clasped the uniformed younger man's
forearm and rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's good to
see you again."
    Sulu revealed a crescent of white teeth. His golden-
skinned features were almost as unlined as Spock's, and
his black hair had barely begun to silver. "Sorry about
the delay, sir. I got held up by a little... company
business."
    "No problem." McCoy picked up his sweating cham-
pagne flute from a nearby dresser and lifted it waggishly.
"We were enjoying ourselves so much we didn't care if
we ever got around to the wedding part." "Speak for yourself," Jim said.
    Sulu laughed. "Well, I think we can get started when-
ever we want. Everyone's all here." He paused. "Are you
sure, sir, that Mr. Spock doesn't mind my performing
the ceremony? I just thought--"
    "You should know by now you can't insult Spock,"
McCoy hurried to answer, with a gleeful look at Jim.
"Besides, he's got a date."
  Sulu's eyebrows rose swiftly in surprise. "A date?"
    "A date, "the doctor answered, at the very instant Jim
corrected:

204

 "A friend."
    Sulu glanced dubiously from McCoy's face to his
former captain's. "Ah. Well... the universe never
ceases to amaze me." He gestured toward the door.
"Gentlemen... shall we?"
     McCoy threw back his flute and took a quick gulp,
then set it down with a definite clink. "Let's get out there," Jim said.
    He followed Sulu and McCoy out the door and over to
the podium, pausing to nod at each of his friends--at
Scott and Chekov, Uhura, and especially Spock, whose
stoic expression dawned into the palest ghost of a smile
as his gaze met Jim's. And there were his brother Sam
with his wife, Aurelan, and their son, Peter, tall and
bearded and looking impossibly adult in his Starfleet
uniform... and Will Decker and his father, Gary
Mitchell and his family, and two dozen other dear faces,
the sight of which filled him with a joy almost impossible
to contain.
    He felt not even the slightest flicker of nerves, only
elation as Sulu took his place beside the podium. With
McCoy beside him as witness, Jim stood in front, then
turned to face the assembled groupmand smiled down
the aisle at the sight of Carol, who emerged from the
opposite end of the room.
    She wore white, like the roses that lined the aisle, like
the gardenia and baby's breath tucked into her hair. Her
cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes radiant, shining, her
arm twined around that of her escort.
    In the instant before she met Jim's gaze, she laughed
softly at some comment whispered in her ear, and
looked up at her golden-haired witness~her escort, her
son--with frank love and happiness.

2O5

    For an instant, David returned his mother's gaze; and
then he lifted his face and looked down the aisle at those
waiting there--at Sulu, McCoy, his father.
    In the brief time he had known his son, Jim had been
struck by the anger that seemed permanently etched in
the young man's features. David had always been in-
tense, restless, inexplicably furious at his father.
    But there was no restlessness, no anger in David's blue
eyes now. He grinned and shot Jim a knowing, impish
look, an affectionate look that could only be shared
between two men who loved the same woman. Then Carol looked up, and smiled ....
    "Stop," Jim whispered, feeling a surge of heart-
pounding euphoria so great he could no longer bear it.
He closed his eyes. "No more .... "
    It was, of course, the way things should have hap-
pened, the way they should have been. He could no
longer remember when it had first begun, but he had
learned to stop questioning it, and now freely amused
himself by going back to correct the past. Every crew
member he had lost was now saved, every wrong deci-
sion righted, every opportunity missed, taken. Every
iota of pain he had ever caused a lover was erased,
replaced by happiness.
    Sometimes the woman was Carol; sometimes, Ruth.
Once he had returned to the far past, to Edith Keeler,
and done the impossible: spared her life, without dis-
turbing history's flow.
  Through it all, he was consumed by joy.
    Though he could not remember how long ago the
universe had turned magical--it could have been a year,
a century, a millennium--he still had vague memories
of another reality, a true, concretized past. He remem-

206

bered the Enterprise-B, and his last few moments there,
rerouting the deflector circuitry, hurrying back down the
corridor. And, of course, the explosion.
    When he first appeared here--wherever "here" was,
for it constantly shifted--he thought himself dead, died
and gone to some enigmatic heaven. After a time, he
decided he had been blown into some strange temporal
anomaly, courtesy of the energy ribbon.
    Either way, it didn't matter. He no longer wondered;
he simply accepted, and enjoyed.
    "No more," he whispered, and even as he spoke, he
felt the floor change beneath his feet, from soft carpet to
hard-packed earth, felt the air against his skin grow
bracing cold.
    He opened his eyes to snowcapped mountains, vast
against brilliant blue sky, and smiled.

207

FOURTEEN

But I know just the guy, Guinan said, and Picard glanced
over his shoulder and up at a shrill, sudden cry. Against
a backdrop of bright, cloudless sky, a hawk circled
overhead, casting a shadow of its great spread wings over
the frozen ground below.
    Picard breathed in cold, pristine air scented with pine
as he looked back, frowning, mouth open to ask Guinan
what had happened to his children, to his homemand
found himself alone, in a small valley surrounded by
spectacular snow-laden peaks. Earth, instinct said, yet
unlike the home he had just left, this place sparked no
sense of familiarity.
    He folded his arms against the chill and turned slowly,
taking in the entire view. Behind him, nestled against a
rocky berm, stood a rustic cabin. He had begun to circle
it, wondering whether he should find the front door and
seek its occupants, when he heard a nearby knocking
sound, emanating from around the corner of the house.
    No. Not knocking. Chopping; the sound of someone
chopping wood.
Picard quickly rounded the corner--and stopped

208

 abruptly in his tracks, releasing a silent gasp that hung as
 mist in the cold air.
    It was, indeed, a man chopping wood. A Starfleet
officer in a century-old uniform, to be more precise, who
had removed his outer burgundy jacket and rolled up the
sleeves of his shirt in order to more comfortably wield
the axe. But not just any Starfleet officer; this one had
thick chestnut hair streaked with silver, hazel eyes full of
quicksilver intelligence, and a broad, handsome face--a
face that Picard immediately recognized from the count-
less holos he had seen in classes at the Academy.
    "James Kirk," he breathed, not realizing until after
the words were out of his mouth that he had spoken. His
mind could not digest the fact that this legend was
actually standing before him. But how... ? Kirk had
died three-quarters of a century ago ....
    Then he remembered: The Enterprise-B. Soran. the
energy ribbon... Then Kirk had not actually died in
the explosion, but been transported directly to the
nexus, just as he, Picard, had been.
    Kirk hefted the axe over one shoulder; the blade
swooped down in a gleaming silver arc and split the log
at his feet with a loud thunk. And then he paused, and
raised his flushed, sweat-beaded face to study Picard
with eyes full of radiant wonder.
    Picard knew the look; it was the same he supposed his
own face had worn, when he had gazed upon Elise and
his five children around the sparkling Christmas tree.
    "Beautiful day, isn't it?" Kirk's question was not an
attempt at polite conversation; he gazed up at the clear
sky, at the mountains, the tall evergreens with such
joyous appreciation that Picard was almost caught up in
the euphoria again.

209

    "Yes. Yes, it is .... "He forced himself to ignore the
dazzling surroundings and focused his mind on those
who had died to bring him here: the crew of the
Enterprise, and the millions on Veridian IV.
    Kirk pointed cheerfully to a log on a nearby woodpile
against the house. "Do you mind?"
    Picard blinked, momentarily confused. "Oh..." He
went over, retrieved the log and set it on the block at
Kirk's feet.
    "Captain..." He paused, searching for the most
potent, direct words to explain himself and his need for
Kirk's help, to dissolve the nexus's seductive hold on the
famous captain. "Do you realize whatre"
    "Wait a second!" Suddenly galvanized, Kirk glanced
at a point beyond Picard's shoulder. "I think some-
thing's burning!"
  He dropped the axe and began to run.
    Picard pivoted. Smoke was billowing out one of the
house's open windows. Kirk rushed inside, leaving the
back door open behind him; Picard followed, then
paused in the open doorway, feeling suddenly awkward
about barging into a strange house--even if that house
happened to be the construct of James Kirk's imagina-
tion.
    The door opened onto a kitchensnineteenth-century
American West, Picard judged, with a few twenty-third-
century touches thrown in for good measure. Copper
pans hung above an antique cast-iron stove, upon which
rested a dented, well-woru teakettle; nearby stood an
outdated computer console, upon which rested a padd
and a communicator of the sort Picard had only seen in
the Starfleet museum.
  The source of the smoke was a large cast-iron frying

210

pan on the stove. Kirk reached for it, swore and yanked
his fingers away, then found a nearby dishtowel. He
swathed his hand in it, successfully grabbed the pan's
handle and, waving the smoke away from his face,
dumped the pan and its contents into the old-fashioned
sink.
    "Looks like someone was cooking eggs," Kirk mused
to himself, then glanced up and caught sight of Picard in
the doorway. He smiled. "Come on in. It's all right." He
gestured at their surroundings. "This is my house--or at
least, it used to be. I sold it years ago."
    Picard entered, and decided to broach the matter
directly. "I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship
Enterprise."
    As he spoke, a timepiece chimed the hour, making
him think at once of Soran. Distracted, Kirk moved over
to a nearby shelf and gazed in surprise at the sound's
source, an antique mantel clock with a gleaming gold
face.
    "This clock..." Kirk whispered, entranced, and ran
his fingers admiringly over its polished dark cherry
surface. "I gave this clock to Bones .... "A beatific smile
spread over his face as he turned toward Picard. "He
said it was the best present anyone ever gave himtwith
the exception of his grandchildren."
    "Captain," Picard said sharply, hoping to pull Kirk
from his reverie. "I'm from what you would consider the
future. The twenty-fourth century..."
    Kirk gave a vacant nod to indicate he had heard, but
the lure of his surroundings held his attention fasL He
started at a sudden sharp bark, then broke into a wide
grin as a great dane bounded through the open back door
and ran toward him, tail wagging.
 "Jake!" Kirk crouched down and embraced the ani-

211

mal, who gave his master's cheek a thorough licking,
then sat and grinned, tongue lolling. "Jake, you misera-
ble old mutt... how can you be here?, He looked over
his shoulder at Picard as he scratched the dog's head.
"He's been dead seven years."
    Frustrated, Picard opened his mouth to speak, but
another voice--a woman's, firm but playful, filtered
down from somewhere upstairs.
    "Come on, Jim, I'm starving. How long are you going
to be rattling around in that kitchen?"
    Kirk rose and turned in the direction of the sound, his
lips parted in amazement. "That's Antonia," he mur-
mured to himself. He glanced over at the stove and the
scorched pan in the sink, frowning faintly as inspiration
came to him. "Wait a minute .... "
    He moved over to a drawer and pulled it open as he
spoke to Picard. "The future .... What are you talking
about? This is the past." As if offering proof, he pro-
duced a horseshoe, adorned with a small red ribbon,
from the drawer. "This is seven years ago. The day I told
her I was going back to Starfleet."
    He raised his face and looked beyond Picard, at some
invisible distant memory, then stepped over to the sink
and grasped the handle of the frying pan.
    "These were Ktarian eggs. Her favorite." His expres-
sion dimmed, grew somber. "I was cooking them to
soften the blow... and I gave her this." He lifted the
horseshoe in his other hand.
    Picard stepped forward, impatient. "I know how real
this must seem to you," he said, thinking of Elise, of
little Mimi, her face reflecting the glow of the shimmer-
ing tree. Seeing someone else seduced by the nexus was a
revelation; now that he was distanced from his own

212

fantasy, he could see clearly now just how illusory, how
false it all was. "But it's not. This isn't really your house.
We've both been caught up in some sort of temporal
nexus."
    "Dill weed," Kirk replied, with sudden excitement.
He pointed at the pantry to Picard's left. "There's a
bottle of dill weed on the second shelf to the left, right
behind the nutmeg."
    And he promptly set down the horseshoe and scraped
out the ruined eggs, then switched on the stove and set
the pan on a flaming burner.
    Picard faltered, uncertain. Recruiting Kirk was prov-
ing more difficult than he expected. He was tempted to
refuse to cooperate, to insist that Kirk pay attention to
him now--yet instinct said to be patient. He was, after
all, not losing any time by playing along; Guinan had
said that he could always return to the precise moment
before Soran launched the probe.
    He released a small sigh and fetched the dill weed,
then handed it to Kirk. He paused, watching as Kirk
pulled two fresh eggs from an old-fashioned refrigera-
tion device and cracked them open on the now-sizzling
skillet, then lifted a spatula from a nearby drawer and
began to stir.
    "How long have you been here?" Picard asked conver-
sationally. Perhaps if he could integrate himself into
Kirk's fantasy, he might meet with more success.
    Kirk sprinkled dill weed over the cooking eggs. "I
don't know." He frowned faintly, remembering. "I
was on the Enterprise-B... in the deflector control
room..." He broke off and handed Picard the spatula.
"Keep stirring these, will you?"
 He moved to a cabinet, opened it, and began setting

213

plates on a breakfast tray. With mild amusement at
himself, Picard repressed the surge of indignation that
rose at yet again taking orders from another captain, and
obediently stirred the eggs.
    "The bulkhead in front of me disappeared," Kirk
continued casually, as though he were relating an every-
day occurrence. "Then I was out here, chopping wood."
He smiled. "And I've also been a few other thousand or
so places since then. I could hardly believe it at
first... but I've gotten used to it." He moved back to
the stove and took the pan from Picard. "Thanks."
    "History records that you died saving the Enterprise-B
from an energy ribbon eighty years ago," Picard said. He
expected a reaction at that, but the oblivious smile
remained fixed on Kirk's lips.
    Kirk glanced up, faintly amused, but not in the least
bit distracted from his enjoyment of the moment. "So
you're telling me this is the twenty-fourth cen-
tury... and I'm dead?" As he spoke, he removed the
pan from the stove and scooped the eggs onto the
plates, then set a small vase of flowers onto the tray.
  "Not exactly. As I said, this is some kind of..."
  "Temporal nexus." Kirk's smile widened as he
  worked. "Yeah, I heard you." He set the hot pan in the
  sink, then turned back and frowned down at the tray.
  "Something's missing .... "
    As if on cue, two pieces of toast popped up from an
antique toaster on the counter. Kirk grinned at them
with delight, set one on each plate and headed out of the
kitchen with the tray.
    Picard followed, suddenly desperate as he felt his
chance slipping away. "Captain," he said, as urgently as

he could manage, "I need your help. I want you to leave
the nexus with me."
    Kirk said nothing, merely headed through a spacious,
rustic living room toward a wooden staircase. Picard
kept up alongside, though it was clear that Kirk would
have preferred to shake his uninvited guest.
    "We have to go back to a planet called Veridian
Three," he continued, "and stop a man from destroying
a star. There are millions of lives at stake."
    The nonchalance in Kirk's expression chilled him.
The captain shrugged and said lightly, "You said history
considers me dead. Who am I to argue with history?"
    Picard let the anger through in his voice. "You're a
Starfleet officer, and you have a duty to--"
    Kirk stopped abruptly at the foot of the staircase and
faced the other captain, his voice and expression hard.
"I don't need to be lectured by you. I was out saving the
galaxy when your grandfather was still in diapers. And
frankly, I think the galaxy owes me one." He paused,
struggling to master his indignation, lest it overwhelm
the euphoria of the experience. "I was like you once," he
said, and for the first time, he seemed to see--really
see--Picard. "So worried about duty and obligations
that I couldn't see anything past this uniform. And, in
the end, what did it get me? An empty house." A shadow
flickered over his features; he glanced toward the top of
the stairs. "Not this time."
    He brushed past his companion. "I'm going to walk
up these stairs, march into that bedroom, and tell
Antonia that I want to marry her. This time, things are
going to be different."
 And he strode up the stairs and disappeared behind a

214                                                                  215

bedroom door, leaving the younger captain to look a~~er
him.
    Picard took in a determined breath and followed,
hesitating only an instant at the closed bedroom door
before grasping the knob and yanking it open.
    He froze in the doorway. Beyond lay not a bedroom
containing the mysterious Antonia, but an old barn,
sunlight streaming through its wooden slats, pitchfork
and shovel hanging against the opposite wall. Picard
stepped forward onto the dirt floor, scattered with straw,
and drew in the scent of farm animals.
    In front of him stood Kirk, sans breakfast tray,
looking every bit as amazed as Picard felt.
    "This doesn't look like your bedroom," Picard said
dryly.
      "No," Kirk replied. A slow smile dawned over his
face. "No, it's not. It's better."  "Better?"
    "This is my uncle's barn in Iowa." Kirk moved to the
far end, to a group of stalls containing horses. One of
them, already saddled, with a coat the color of gleaming
coal, snorted in recognition as the human reached up to
stroke its neck. "I took this horse out for a ride nine
years ago... on a spring day." Inspired, he hurried to
the barn door and swung it open, revealing a green,
sunny landscape outside. "Just like this. If I'm right, this
is the day I met Antonia."
    He turned toward Picard. "This nexus of yours is very
clever. I can start all over again, do things right from day
one."
    Kirk hurried back to the horse, swung up into the
saddle, and galloped out of the barn. Picard watched the
receding figures of horse and rider for only an instant--

216

then took a saddle from the wall and found a mount of
his own.
    This time he followed on an intelligent, cooperative
steed, over rolling green countryside, riding hard to keep
within sight of Kirk: across a clear-running stream,
through a copse of ancient oaks, out onto a grassy plain.
From a distance he watched as Kirk spurred the Ameri-
can saddlebreed toward a wide ravine, never once slow-
ing pace. At the last possible instant, the horse made a
beautiful, arcing leap and landed on the other side, its
hind hooves barely clearing the edge.
    Kirk slowed at once; then came to a complete stop and
paused to gaze at the ravine behind him. He frowned,
then wheeled his horse around and galloped back for a
second try.
    Kirk made the jump a second time; yet this time, the
older captain reined his animal to an immediate stop
and sat, frowning, as Picard rode up beside him.
    Kirk looked once again at the ravine, his expression
saddened, confused--for the first time, free of any trace
of the euphoria induced by the nexus. Picard felt a
stirring of hope, but remained silent as the other man
sorted through his feelings.
    "I must have made this jump fifty times," Kirk finally
said softly. "And every time, it scared the hell out of me.
But not this time. Because..." He paused, clearly
pained by the words that followed. "... it's not real."
    He lifted his hand to shade his eyes, and stared at
something moving down a distant hill. Picard followed
his gaze and saw a small, slender woman leading a horse.
"Antonia?"
    Kirk nodded, wistful. "She's not real either, is she?
Nothing here is... nothing here matters .... "He

217

looked around at his surroundings with sorrow. "It's
kind of like... orbital skydiving. Exciting for a few
minutes, but in the end, you haven't really done any-
thing. You haven't made a difference." And then his gaze
fell upon Picard--and for the first time, he seemed to
really see the man in front of him.
    "Captain of the Enterprise, huh?" He shot the other
man a look of pure camaraderie and did not quite grin,
but the corners of his eyes crinkled.
      "That's right." Picard smiled with relief, surprised
that Kirk had even registered the information.
  "Close to retirement?"
  "I hadn't planned on it."
    "Well, let me tell you something," Kirk said, with a
sudden passion that told Picard he was at least seeing the
real man. "Don't. Don't let them promote you, don't let
them transfer you, don't let anything take you off the
bridge of that ship. Because while you're there, you can
make a difference."
    "You don't need to be on the bridge of a starship,"
Picard countered firmly, grateful that at last his words
were being heard. "Come with me. Help me stop Soran.
Make a difference again." He paused, his own tone rising
with a fervor that matched Kirk's. "You're right; nothing
here is real, nothing matters. But the two hundred thirty
million who died when the Veridian sun was destroyed
--they were real. So was my crew--"
    Kirk leaned forward, his expression intense. "The
crew of the Enterprise-D?"
    Picard dropped his gaze, nodded somberly. "All killed
when the ship was caught in the resulting shock wave."
    Kirk turned his face away, toward the woman walking
down the distant hill, and was silent a long moment.

And then he looked back at Picard, and a smile spread
slowly over his features. "How can I argue with the
captain of the Enterprise?" He paused, and an amused
glimmer very like the one Picard associated with Will
Riker shone in his eyes. "What was the name of that
planet? Veridian Three?"
    "That's right," Picard said, with utter relief at the
realization that he had at last succeeded.
    "I take it the odds are against us, and the situation is
grim?"
 "You could say that," Picard allowed.
    Kirk gave a small, resigned sigh. "Of course, if Spock
were here, he'd say I was being an irrational, illogical
human for wanting to go on a mission like that ...."He
grinned suddenly, brilliantly. "Sounds like fun."
    And he turned and went with Picard without a back-
ward glance at the approaching woman.

218                                                              219

FIFTEEN

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Captain, I have an appoint-
ment with eternity and I don't want to be late," Soran
said.
    Picard cast a swift glance at his surroundings. A
millisecond before, he had been astride a horse, beside
James Kirk, looking out at a gently rolling plain. Now he
was once more atop the dusty plateau, seated on a rock
in the shadow of a great tree, his hand full of pebbles;
overhead, the Veridian sun shone down, radiating gentle
warmth upon his skin.
 James Kirk was nowhere to be seen.
    Before him, Soran--pale face aglow with maniacal
anticipation--turned and began to climb the scaffolding
toward the top of the rockface.
    There was no time for further appeals, no time for
subterfuge--no time to peer anxiously about to see
whether Kirk had indeed gone through with his decision
to leave the nexus. Picard dropped to the ground, rolled
onto his back, and wriggled headfirst beneath the stone
arch, praying silently all the while that he would not be
doomed to see history repeat itself.

    There was little room. He had gotten his head through
to the forcefield's other side and slipped his shoulders
beneath the arch when the field flashed blindingly in
front of his chin. The jolt was agonizingly intense; as the
field crackled, he thrashed involuntarily--knowing that
Soran would see, that the disruptor blast would be sure
to follow--then stilled himself, panting, and directed
his clearing gaze upward, toward the scaffolding.
    A blur of black and white, Soran paused in his
climbing.
    Picard pushed hard with his feet and slid forward
through the sand, knowing that it would be too late,
preparing himself for the inevitable. Atop the scaffold-
ing, Soran wheeled, then pulled an object from his hip.
    A disruptor, Picard knew. He drew a breath, squeezed
his eyes shut, and lay still ....

    Soran raised his disruptor and squinted at the cloud of
dust and smoke rising from the collapsed rock archway
where Picard had wriggled beneath the forcefield. The
scientist jumped down a level, weapon ready, his mind
full of fury; there was no time to deal with distractions!
He should have killed the human outright, when he first
came, to save himself the annoyance now.
    But no, you had to be softhearted. And why? You'll soon
have the blood of two hundred thirty million on your
head.... What's one more?
    A breeze stirred, dispersing the haze to reveal a
scorched hole gouged in the earth where the captain had
lain.
 But no Picard.
    Frustrated, Soran peered around at the shifting wisps
of smoke. No sign of the captain ....

220                                                              221

    But the sky above his head glimmered, with a sudden,
distantly familiar splendor that made Soran catch his
breath and look up.
    A snake of brilliant rainbow light thrashed across the
sky, so bedazzling with its promise, its beauty, that his
wide eyes filled at once with tears.
    No time. There was no time to search for Picard, no
time to do anything save scramble up the scaffolding and
prepare himself for escape from this temporal hell.
    Soran climbed, eyes blinded by the ribbon's blazing
glory, by tears. His heart, once heavy at the thought of
the deaths of Veridian IV's inhabitants, of Picard, of
those aboard the Enterprise, now seemed light, absolved
of any wrong by the coming wonder of what he was
about to embrace.  Leandra...
    What was the Terran parable? A jewel, a pearl of great
price. Worth anything, everything to possess. Surely he,
above all others, understood the tale. The nexus was
worth any number of lives; who could put a price on
eternal paradise? He smiled thinly as he pulled himself
up onto the next highest peak, and stepped quickly onto
the narrow metal scaffolding that bridged two plateaus.
    Soon; soon he would be with Leandra, and as he
pulled out his pocket watch--the only tangible remnant
he had of her in this hellish universe--he stared into its
blank, crystalline face and instead saw hers.
    Halfway across the scaffolding, he glanced up, startled
--not into his dead wife's face, but that of a stranger.
    A stranger, but somehow vaguely familiar, making
Soran think he had seen his holo somewhere before. A
human, hair chestnut shot with silver, wearing a Starfleet
uniform Soran had not seen in almost a century ....

222

     "Just who the hell are you?" Soran whispered, but he
knew the answer even before a voice replied behind him:
  "He's James T. Kirk. Don't you read history?"
    He whirled to find Picard standing behind him--then
turned back again to gape at the grinning impossibility
in front of him.
    Yes, this was Kirk all right: the captain who had died
when the Enterprise-B was trapped by the energy ribbon.
Supposedly died--but clearly, Kirk must have been
transported into the nexus instead. But what was he
doing here, now... ?
    Soran knew he had a choice. He could try to pull out
the disruptor and kill one of them, permitting the other
to tackle him. Or he could flee and kill them one at a
time.
    He grabbed the metal rungs with both hands and
propelled himself upward, onto the rocks. As he scram-
bled away, Picard said below him:
    "I've got to get to the launcher; the ribbon will be here
in a minute."
 "I'll take care of Soran," Kirk's voice said.
    The conversation between the two prompted a jolting
thought: Picard had somehow been to the nexus, solic-
ited help, knowing that he could not both reprogram the
launcher and distract Soran. But how could Picard have
gone to the nexus, unless...
    Unless he, Soran, had been successful. Unless he had
already found his way back to Leandra's arms. Grief
pierced him as he scrabbled over rocks and sand.
    He would feel no pity for either of them. They were
trying to steal his very life from him, just as surely as he
would now claim theirs.
 Pain and madness heightened his agility and his

223

senses; he moved quickly, easily over the rocks, and so
silently that soon he detected Kirk's stertorous, gasping
breath nearby, on the other side of a giant rock.
    He ran around it smoothly, pulling out his disruptor
just in time to aim it cleanly at Kirk's head. The human
gazed at him with greenish-brown eyes that were intense,
wary, but oddly free of fear.
    "Actually," Soran said, not bothering to keep the
exultation from his tone, "I am familiar with history,
Captain. And if I'm not mistaken, you're dead."
    He had intended to squeeze the trigger at that
moment--but at the instant the word dead had slipped
from his tongue, his eyes had caught a blur of movement
to one side.
  Picard, leaping down from atop a rock.
    The distraction allowed Kirk to rush Soran, who
bellowed at the realization that there was no time to take
aim, nothing to be done except to hurl himself backward
against Picard--and send him rolling down a nearby
slope.
    The odds were better, but even so, the supposedly
dead captain never allowed Soran the opportunity to
recover and fire the disruptor. Instead, Kirk threw
himself upon the scientist, coming dangerously close to
knocking the weapon from Soran's hand.
    Soran struggled with a madman's intensity, a
madman's strength, merely to hold on to the disruptor,
but this aging dead human who fought with an odd
glimmer of humor in his eyes was more than a match.
Soran cried out, kicked out, lashed out--and yet Kirk
shook off each blow and replied with one of his own.
And at last he struck Soran's chin with such force that
the scientist almost fell onto the cliffs below, managing

at the last instant to clutch the chain-metal railing as his
lungs emptied with a hoarse rush of air. His fingers
nearly lost their grip, then through some miraculous
intervention, managed to clasp on to the weapon.
    Yet when he attempted to raise it and fire, Kirk struck
out again--this time causing Soran to stumble, and step
out upon empty air.
    Mindlessly, he clung to the disruptor as though it
could save him and, for a brief, breathless millisecond,
clawed one-handed in midair for purchase, seeing before
him in the wide sky another dazzling streak: the promise
of the future, lost. Then came another instant of grace as
he swiped at the chains, the railing, the bridge itself, and
his hands came away with a thin lifeline: a rope.
  Soran fell.
    As he fell, he slid down the rope, one palm and the
crook of one elbow burning as they gripped the lifeline,
his knees and shins and feet slamming against the
hillside. Above him, Kirk and Picard and the scaffolding
receded with dizzying speed.
    Abruptly, Soran bore down against the rope with his
knees, and came to a lurching halt; there he dangled but
a second, thumping against the red rockface, disruptor
still in his tenacious grip, before he realized what he had
to do.
    Picard and Kirk had run off the bridge and were
moving down the rocks. Soran did not care if they
moved toward him; his greater concern was the launch-
er. And so he carefully replaced his disruptor in his belt,
then reached for the remote launcher control pad. Bal-
ancing his feet against stone, he pressed the appropriate
control, and permitted himself a grimly hopeful smile.

224                                                                 225

    Seconds earlier, as Picard approached Kirk on the
scaffolding and the two of them watched Soran's strange
descent, Kirk spoke with what appeared to be good-
natured annoyance.
  "I thought you were heading for the launcher."
    "I changed my mind," Picard said. "Captain's prerog-
ative." He did not care to admit the truth: that he had
had a sudden overwhelming premonition that the legen-
dary captain needed his help. There had still been
enough time before the probe's launch, so he had yielded
to instinct. Certainly, the real James T. Kirk would not
have required help in his lifetime; then again, this was
not the living Kirk, but one who had been dead some
three-quarters of a century. Picard could not help think-
ing of him as old, ancient, from a bygone era, though
clearly the hard-breathing, ruddy-cheeked man who
stood before him, hair tousled, eyes shining, seemed as
vigorous and powerful and purely alive as anyone Picard
had ever met.
    Kirk said nothing, but wore a slight, cryptic smile as
the two of them moved down the hillside toward Soran
--and the launcher.
    And then, as Picard glanced over at him, the smile
transformed into a frown: Picard quickly followed
Kirk's gaze, and saw what had provoked the change.
    The plateau that had borne the sleek black rocket and
its launcher now stood empty.
    Some distance away, dangling from the side of the
rockface, Soran smiled in evil triumph, and lowered a
small black device in his hand. Yet his gloating expres-
sion soon turned to one of panic as the rope suddenly
gave way with an audible snap.
  Still clinging to it as it undulated serpent-like above

him, the scientist slid downward, accompanied by a
cascade of pebbles and soil and rising clouds of red dust.
Yet Soran's luck--and the rope--held fast once more,
as the end of the rope tangled then caught on the
overhead trestle.
    Soran came to a stop so abrupt the control fell from
his hand and tumbled downward, coming at last to a
clattering stop on a metal bridge spanning two steep
hillsides.
    "We need that control padd," Picard said, to himself
as much as to Kirk; before the words left his mouth, he
was running at full speed toward the bridge, with the
vague realization that Kirk was beside him, matching
stride for stride.
    Yet as he ran, an ominous sense of danger came over
Picard, the same one he had felt when first he'd tried to
leave Kirk alone to fight Soran. Instinct drew his eyes
back toward the rockface, and the dangling rope that had
saved Soran from death.
 Now the rope hung, empty.
    "Captain, look!" Picard shouted, coming to an abrupt
halt, and lifted an arm to point to the rope. He scowled,
scanned the red rock for their foe's slender, dark form,
and found nothing. "Where's Soran?"
    Beside him, Kirk stopped, kicking up a small cloud of
dust, and gazed up at the deserted, dangling rope. Just as
suddenly, he surged forward, toward the bridge... and
the control padd.
    Picard hung back, held by a sense of foreboding and
responsibility to keep watch over the man he had
dragged from paradise. He raised his face and squinted
once more in a strong Veridian sunlight at the unreveal-
ing hills.

226                                                                227

    A swi~~, bright blaze of light dazzled him, leaving its
blinding yellow imprint upon his retina; he turned,
blinking as the afterimage faded, to see Soran behind
them with the disruptor.
    Another brilliant blast: This one struck the bridge
dead center--a hand's breadth from where Kirk now
stood--filling the air with the stench of scorched metal.
The scaffolding groaned, then shuddered as it erupted in
flames, limned by black smoke; Picard ran toward it as
the other captain stumbled, then grabbed the railing as
the bridge gave a deep sigh and broke in two.
    Amazingly, Kirk clung fast to the edge that hung
nearest Picard; beyond him, a streak of roiling energy
undulated in the sky. Beneath him, a deep ravine waited
ominously.
    Picard moved to the edge and knelt, reaching out a
hand toward the captain. Kirk was gasping, his face
crimson, gleaming with sweat and smudged with soot,
his legs kicking against empty air for purchase, but the
determination never left his eyes. He pulled himself
toward Picard and cautiously extended one hand.
    Picard leaned precariously close to the abyss, reach-
ing, straining toward Kirk's outstretched fingertips. He
had not turned his back on paradise and convinced Kirk
to do so as well just to fail. Only millimeters between
them now. If Kirk could slide only a few millimeters,
while maintaining his one-handed grip...
    Kirk slid closer; the bridge shuddered as he did,
causing him to lose his precarious hold on the railing.
    In that split second before he could plummet down-
ward, Picard reached still forward and, impossibly,
maintained his balance as his hand caught the other
captain's. He gave a mighty backward lurch, ignoring the

228

screaming protest from offended arm and shoulder and
back muscles.
    He fell backward, but soon righted himself again to
see Kirk pushing himself to his feet. Together they
moved away from the scaffolding, toward level ground; a
sudden play of light above them made them both gaze
upward, at the jagged streaks piercing the bright sky.
    "We're running out of time," Picard said, fighting a
surge of despair. Yet at the instant he said it, his eye
caught something to ease that despair: On the ravine's
opposite side, half of the bridge still stood, suspended in
midair.
And upon it lay Soran's small, black device.
"Look!" He pointed. "The control padd--it's still on
the other side." A quick glance around them showed that
there was no way through the impassable peaks to the
bridge's other side. The only way to reach it was to climb
down the dangling edge he had just rescued Kirk
from... and jump across.
    "I'll get it," Kirk said, obviously having come to the
same conclusion, for he was already moving back to-
ward the dangling bridge. "You go for the launcher."
    "No," Picard countered firmly. The scaffolding's sup-
ports were clearly in danger of giving way entirely--and
he had no desire to be responsible for Kirk's dying a
second time. They had already come uncomfortably
close enough to that. "You'll never make that by your-
self. We have to work together."
    He moved to turn; Kirk stepped into his path, and
with a warmth usually reserved for very old friends, put
his hand on Picard's shoulder and said, "We are working
together. Trust me. Go."
 Picard's first instinct was to refuse, to insist on helping

229

retrieve the padd--but he knew that Kirk was right:
Time had grown short, and he could no longer afford the
luxury of watching over Kirk to be sure the Starfleet
legend came to no harm.
    At the same time, he could not shake the unsettling
premonition that Kirk was in mortal danger; and so he,
Picard, would have preferred to go after the padd
himself. But both he and Kirk knew that a twenty-third
century captain was no match for twenty-fourth century
technology. And so he released a barely audible sigh and
surrendered to the inevitable as he said softly, "Good
luck, Captain."
    Kirk grinned; the act lit up his face with a brilliance
that matched the writhing sky. "Call me Jim."
    And as Kirk stepped back onto the broken bridge, he
found himself remembering a part of his life he had not
thought of in... eighty years, was it? It scarcely seemed
that long ago, when he had wakened, sweating, from the
dream of falling down the sheer rockface of E1 Capitan.
    That's right; in reality, Spock had rescued him. But in
the dream he had fallen endlessly, eternally, with no
Spock, no friend, no one to save him ....
    And the day he had been aboard the Enterprise-
B--the day he had been oddly overcome by a premoni-
tion of his own death; the day, according to Picard, that
he had indeed died--he'd experienced the same sensa-
tion.
    He felt it again now, the instant his foot stepped onto
the metal bridge: emotional free fall, the sheerest terror
and bliss. Terror, because he knew Spock would not be
there to catch him; bliss, because he was once again
doing what he had been born to do--make a difference.
There was no time for thought, for reflection, only for
pure mindless action.

230

    There were two hundred fifty million lives at stake--
and those of a well-trained, loyal Enterprise crew. Surely
the lives of those shipmates alone were worth the
sacrifice of his; he had seen their captain, and if Picard
was representative of twenty-fourth-century Starfleet,
then these were exceptional individuals indeed.
 What was it Spock would have said?
    It is merely logical, Jim: The good of the many
outweighs the good of the one.
    This half of the bridge sloped dangerously downward.
He took mincing half-steps, half-walking, half-sliding as
he clutched the rails with both hands, his eyes fixed on
the remote device, which lay on the opposite half of the
broken scaffolding, the half that still remained standing.
    Control padd, he reminded himself, trying to over-
come the fear with amusement. You've got to remember
these things if you're going to live in the twenty-fourth
century. Maybe I'll get the chance to know what Gillian
felt like...
  I wonder ifSpock's still alive?
    Suddenly the sole of his boot slipped against the slick
metal, and he was sliding downward, flailing frantically
and shouting: "Whoa! Whoa....t" A small, noisy ava-
lanche of sand and pebbles followed, pelting his head
and shoulders, stinging his eyes.
    Somehow he managed to grasp the chain railing and
regain his footing, but behind him came ominous
groans: the sound of bolts, which supported the scaffold-
ing, working their way free from the rock.
    And for a moment he was back on the Enterprise-B,
his heart pounding, his breath coming in gasps, knowing
that the fear did not matter. For the first time in an
eternity, he felt truly alive.

                231

    And he could feel the bridge supports giving way. A
glance behind him at the bolts in the rockface confirmed
it; he did not have much time.
    Beyond, on the other side of the bridge, lay Soran's
device.
    Kirk drew a breath and leaped toward the other side,
thinking of anything except the gaping ravine that lay
beneath him; thinking of Spock, of McCoy, of Carol and
David, of Picard and those last moments aboard the
Enterprise-B.
    Astoundingly, he did not fall, but caught the very edge
of the jagged metal and hoisted himself up. The bridge
trembled beneath him, sagging lower, lower--but it held
just enough for him to crawl toward the small black
device clattering against the metal.
    A shriek as metal chains and bolts snapped and gave
way. The bridge lurched ominously downward. Kirk
reacted with pure instinct, reaching with one hand to
swipe the remote the instant before it clattered off the
side and clown into the abyss. With the other, he grabbed
the bridge itself and held on through adrenaline's grace.
    There was no time for thought, for reason, for any-
thing other than pure inspiration. Mindlessly, he
glanced down at the control in his hand and with
brilliance born of necessity, found the proper control
and pressed it.
    Below him, safe upon the plateau, Picard rushed up
onto the now-visible platform that revealed the clark
probe and its launcher.
    "Aha!" Kirk breathed, exultant, and grinned gently.
This was what he had sought in every experience in the
nexus; this was what had convinced him to leave it, and

232

brought him here to this place and this moment, to the
aid of strangers.
    The bridge shuddered again, this time swinging down-
ward, slamming him against the rockface before the
failing metal gave one final agonized scream.
    He held fast as he closed his eyes and told himself, The
good of the many...
    And when the last bolt freed itself and the last support
gave way, sending him hurtling into the abyss with a
thundering cascade of rocks and sand, he felt no fear, no
regret, only a glimmer of gladness that a planet and
starship crew were safe, and would continue without
him.
    And then there was silence, and the beginning of the
ultimate, infinite freefall...

    Only heartbeats before, Picard had dashed up onto the
launcher platform and gone to work; he had not dared to
look back at Kirk's precarious situation. He could only
feel a surge of deep gratitude and pray that, somehow,
the bridge would hold and the captain would find a
way to cling to it... and that he, Picard, could avoid
Soran and his disruptor long enough to reprogram the
launcher.
    He had heard the distant sound of tumbling rocks and
screeching metal; still, he could not permit himself to
look up from his task. The control panel was labeled in
utterly alien hieroglyphics--E1 Aurian perhapsmand a
half-dozen screens displayed meaningless visuals and
graphics. He had no choice but to start randomly
pressing controls.
    The main screen flickered, changed to an image of the
Veridian sun, caught in the center of a crosshair. He kept

233

touching controls; the image changed again, again, to
distant stars, to the roiling sky--and at last to the image
of the rocket itself, encased in its launcher.  This was the key.
     With a thrill of exhilaration, Picard drew in a breath
and began testing other controls.  "Picard!"
    Soran's shrill voice echoed off the surrounding cliffs.
At the sound of it, Picard forced himself not to look up
for a half-second, forced himself to keep his eyes on the
screen and find the command he sought. He could not
read the script, but he understood the visual graphic well
enough: It showed two large forcefield locks encircling
the rocket.
    He selected the command in a half-second, no more,
then glanced up to see Soran striding swiftly toward him
over the rock-strewn clay, arm extended, disruptor
aimed at Picard's heart.
 "Get away from that launcher! Now!"
    Picard lifted his hands and backed carefully away,
then turned and leaped from the platform as Soran
approached.
    He took cover behind a rock and watched as the
scientist climbed up to scowl at the launcher control
panel.

    Soran hunched over the launcher panel as, overhead,
bolts of prismatic lightning streaked through the blue
Veridian sky.
    Not long. It would not be long nowmonly seconds
away from Leandra and the children, so long as Picard
had not, in his moralistic idiocy, altered the rocket's
course.

    With the trembling fingers of one hand, he pressed the
control and stared uncomprehendingly at the message
that appeared on the screen: Locking clamps engaged.
    In disbelief, he gazed up at the sky, at the promise of
paradise, lost. The ribbon was here now, and the time for
the probe to be launched was now, not two seconds from
now, or five, the time it would take him to correct
Picard's intrusion. Leandra . . .
    He would join her, yes--but not in the manner he'd
hoped.
    He thought of the watch she had given him, ticking
relentlessly against his heart.
Out of time, my darling. You and I are out of time...
Zero hour. The rocket strained to launch against its
restraints. Soran knew full well what was coming, yet
refused to yield to instinct, to fling himself from the
platform. Instead, he held fast to the panel, embracing
the explosion when it came to take him out of time...
 Leandra . . .
 Heat. Pain. Blazing white. And then the darkness...

    Overwhelmed by grief and remorse, triumph and
exhilaration, Picard knelt beside Kirk's body. The
bridge had plummeted into the ravine, and the captain
had been buried beneath the resulting avalanche of
metal and stone; now he lay motionless beneath a large
rock, his face pale, his lips stained with blood. Picard
hastened to move away stones and fragments of twisted
metal; although it was too late to help, the least he could
do was give Kirk a burial befitting a hero.
 The legendary captain was finally, truly dead. The fact

234                                                              235

filled Picard with strange sorrow; despite the fact that he
had always relegated James Kirk to the past, despite the
brevity of their encounter, he felt a deep kinship with the
man.
    And then Kirk's eyes flicked open; he drew a ragged,
hitching breath.
    "Did we do it?" he whispered. "Did we make a
difference?"
    "Oh, yes." Picard released a sigh that caught in his
throat. "We made a difference. Thank you."
    "Least I could do... for the captain of the Enter-
prise." Racked by a spasm of pain, he coughed, a deep
gurgling sound emanating from his lungs. Fresh blood
flecked his lips. Yet before Picard could urge him to
remain quiet, he continued, a weak smile playing at his
lips. "It was... fun."
    He stared sightlessly up at the sky, a pane of sunlight
illuminating his features. All suffering seemed suddenly
to leave him; his expression grew reflective, peaceful. In
the distance a lone bird burst into song.
    And then the faint smile abruptly vanished, replaced
by a look of infinite amazement, infinite wonder. "Oh
my," he whispered, eyes wide.
    Picard glanced up at the sky, expecting to see a rescue
craft or some equally inspiring sight--but there was
nothing overhead save blue sunlit sky.
 When he looked down again, Kirk had gone.

    Deanna Troi inhaled a lungful of smoke and coughed,
then winced at the sudden spasm in her ribs. The
sharpness of it helped clear her head; she stirred, and
realized that she had been thrown from her chair and
now lay atop the console, with her arms and shoulders

236

dangling over. Data sat slumped forward over the navi-
gation console beside her, his hands still gripping her
legs; obviously, he had kept her from flying into the
viewscreen. Her movement seemed to revive him; he
straightened, released his hold, and helped her from the
console.
    "Counselor? Are you all right?" Data seemed un-
harmed, but his hair was tousled, his eyes wide with
shock.
    She nodded, even though her legs trembled beneath
her, and grimaced at another stab of pain in her rib and
the complaints issuing from torn muscles in her shoul-
ders. Blessedly, the ship was silent and still, the ground
beneath her feet solid.
    The bridge was veiled in smoke from smoldering
consoles but, strangely, no longer as dark. She squinted
at the glare, and realized that rays of light filtered
through the haze. At first she thought that auxiliary
lighting had miraculously been restored; and then she
gazed upward, beyond the layer of smoke, at the sunlight
shining through the shattered dome above the bridge. As
she watched, two birds perched on the edge and stared
down at those below.
    "I think we've landed," Troi whispered--to no one.
Data had already moved off and was helping others to
their feet. She turned and saw Worf behind her, pushing
himself to a sitting position on the deck; clearly, he had
been thrown over the tactical console.
    And then she saw Riker, lying faceup and motionless
on the deck near the overturned command chair. His
head was cocked at an odd angle, his eyes open and
staring blankly ~p at the shattered dome.
  "My GodmWill!" She ran to him, seized by the

237

dreadful certainty that he was dead, and fell to her
knees.
    "I'm all right," he croaked. "Just enjoying the
view..." He sat up slowly, gingerly. "Report..."
    Data emerged from the haze with Worf beside him.
"All systems are off-line, sir," the android said. "I do not
know how the rest of the ship has fared. But there are no
casualties on the bridge. Only minor injuries."
    "Good," Riker said. He reached for the back of the
overturned command chair and, ignoring Data and
Troi's offers of assistance, pulled himself up. "Evacuate
the bridge and organize all able-bodied personnel into
search-and-rescue parties."
    "Aye, sir." Data turned and headed for the emergency
exit; Worf and Troi followed.
    In midstride she hesitated, dizzied not by the physical
aftershock from the collision, but by the mental ghost of
a separate present. Reality wavered; in her mind's eye,
the bridge abruptly darkened.
    The shock wave, she thought, with sudden swift panic,
hearing in her imagination a silent rumble, and raised
her face toward the shattered dome.
    Birds warbled, basking in the warm sunlight; the sky
was bright and still. She drew a breath and shuddered,
releasing the phantom image and the fear. For some
incomprehensible reason, she felt as she had when the
captain had first told her grimly of a future which
excluded her: that she had been given a second chance at
life.
    "Deanna?" Will took a step toward her, his smoke-
smudged brow furrowed. "Are you all right?"
 Worf and Data stopped, turned to look back at her.
 She gazed at them, seeing the concern in their eyes, in

Will's, and was overwhelmed with gratitude to be alive
and surrounded by the friends she loved; overwhelmed
by the preciousness of the moment.
    "Yes," she answered softly, when at last she found her
voice, and smiled. "Yes, Will... everything's just fine."

    Kirk he buried beneath the shade of an ancient tree, in
a spot with a view of the jungle and the sky. By the time
he set the last rock atop the captain's grave, that sky had
reddened, and deepened to purplish twilight; against the
tree- and mountain-studded horizon, the flaming
Veridian sun had slipped low, its streaming rays painting
the graves' white stones tiger-lily orange.
    The long task done, Picard retrieved Kirk's command
insignia pin from his pocket and set it reverently at the
head of the grave.
    In the first moment he had realized Kirk was dying, he
had felt almost unbearable guilt; it was he who had urged
Kirk to give up eternal happiness in the nexus in
exchange for death. Yet he knew, from meeting the
captain, that Kirk would have chosen no other course.
    And Kirk's sacrifice, offered so cheerfully, so easily,
had freed Picard from any lingering desire to return to
Robert and Ren~, and his fictional wife and children. He
recalled the anger on Guinan's face:
 I didn't want to leave ....All I couM think about was
getting back....
    But as he stood at attention in front of James Kirk's
grave, staring into the striking Veridian sunset above the
darkening landscape, he felt only relief to have escaped
back to reality. Kirk had understood; such an existence
would have been meaningless in the extreme. Eternal,
yes; real, no. And while life outside the nexus was a

238                                                               239

temporary, fleeting phenomenon, did that not give each
moment more value, more poignancy?
    Picard stood several moments in the cooling air,
reflecting on the debt he and millions of others owed
James Kirk. And then he lifted his gaze overhead at the
sound of a droning engine, and spied something pale and
blinking streaking through the deepening sky.
    The Enterprise shuttlecraft. It settled gracefully, softly
in a clearing at the far end of the mountaintop, without
stirring up dust. Picard strode quickly past trees to meet
it, and arrived just as the hatch slid open to reveal Worf
and La Forge.
    Wo~f jumped out first, narrowing his eyes at the
growing dusk to study his commanding officer. "Cap-
tain, are you all right?"
 "Yes," Picard said wearily.
    "What about Dr. Soran?" La Forge asked, lingering in
the doorway.
    Picard hesitated, thinking of the two graves behind
him, hidden by trees and brush. No doubt in the future
he would report the precise details of what had occurred
to him here on the plateau, and in the nexus, with James
Kirk and Soran... but at the moment, he wanted only
to return to the ship, and rest. "You needn't worry about
the doctor anymore."
    He moved to enter the shuttle... and paused, squint-
ing in the failing light at the small bandage on Geordi La
Forge's brow, at the tear in Worf's uniform, at the
scorched dents in the side of the shuttlecraft. "Was there a problem with the Klingons?"
    La Forge shared an ominously reluctant look with
Worf; for an instant, neither officer replied. And then

240

         IAK 1 IKl~,lk ~,JIZlNI~,IKAI IUlN;~

Geordi said, with a gusting sigh, "You could say
that .... "

 "Captain's log, Stardate 48650.1.
    "The Starship Farragut has arrived in orbit and has
begun to beam up the Enterprise survivors for transport
back to Earth.
    "Our casualties were light... but unfortunately, the
Enterprise herself cannot be salvaged."
    Picard paused in his recording to gaze out the open
doorway at the stream of personnel moving past--some
carrying what personal effects they had rescued from
their quarters, some hauling undamaged equipment,
still others evacuating the wounded on stretchers. Lit by
emergency beacons, the corridor led to an open hatch;
beyond lay sunlit sky and the lush greenery of the
Veridian jungle.
    "Computer," Picard said, swiveling in his chair to
stare out the hatch at the distant mountains, "end log.
I'd like a cup of tea. Earl Grey. Hot." He rested his
elbows against the gleaming surface of the conference
table. The ready room had been reduced to virtual
rubble; he had had no time thus far to sift through the
wreckage, but had instead been busy here, at one of the
few places on the ship where communications and the
computer functioned.
    "That selection is not currently available," the com-
puter droned. "Choice of teas is limited--banchu,
blackberry, or Thirellian mint."
  Picard sighed. "Never mind."
    A sudden shadow fell across the table. He glanced up
to see Guinan, smiling in the doorway.
  "I'm glad to see you again." She seemed unharmed,

241

unruffled, entirely untouched by the chaos surrounding
her.
    "I'm glad to see you, too." He returned the smile. "I
had a question to ask .... "
    "I know." Her expression grew teasingly enigmatic.
"And I wanted to apologize for underestimating you,
Jean-Luc. For being afraid that you wouldn't come
back."
    "I had good reason. Veridian Four. This crew... and
you, Guinan." He hesitated. "Why didn't you tell me
about all this?" He spread his hands, gesturing at the
damaged room, at the scene beyond the open door.
    She did not answer immediately, but paused to listen
to the sharp, silver song of a bird outside. She turned her
face toward it, and said, "Some things are meant to be.
Like your saving the Veridian star. And this..." She
glanced around her. "This was meant to be, too."
    "But crew members died," Picard said heavily. "We
lost seventeen."
    "Yes..." Guinan gave a single, solemn nod, her dark
eyes ashine with empathy. "And that's as it should be.
Death isn't always defeat, Jean-Luc. It's part of birth, the
way of the universe." She paused. "I've been places
where they weep at births and celebrate deaths. I think
it's not such a bad idea; keeps things in perspective."
    "So I was meant to save those on Veridian Four, and
most of the crew," Picard said. "But not those
seventeen... ?" He shook his head faintly. "If you had
told me about them--"
    She interrupted. "--you would have gone back earlier
in time to save them anyway. I know. That's why I didn't
tell you." She gave a soft, wistful sigh. "It's not easy
knowing things, sometimes." She raised her face and

gazed at her surroundings. "I'm going to miss this
ship .... "
    Picard nodded. His deep relief at saving the popula-
tion of Veridian IV and his crew had been overshadowed
by the loss of the seventeen, and the Enterprise herself.
He mourned her--not with the intensity he did Robert
and Ren6, but there was grief nonetheless.
    Yet he did not feel the rage, the fury upon hearing of
that loss as he had when learning of his brother's and
nephew's deaths. His experience with the nexus and
Kirk had changed his perspective; had helped him to
value what was temporal, fleeting--precisely because of
its impermanence.
    "I want to thank you," he told Guinan, "for helping
me in the nexus. For introducing me to Kirk." His tone
softened; and he told her what he had revealed to no one
else. "He returned here, to this planet, with me; he was
killed helping me stop Soran."
    "I know," Guinan said, very quietly; this time, there
was no amusement in her gaze. "That was meant to be,
too. Sometimes, the universe can be very fair. He died
the way he wanted to: making a difference."
    Picard raised his head sharply at that, remembering
Kirk's final question; then his lips curved upward, very
faintly. "I hope, when my time comes, that the universe
is as kind to me."
    She reached across the table, and set her warm hand
upon his. "I suspect it will be, Jean-Luc," she said, and
smiled. "I suspect it will .... "

242                                                                243

SIXTEEN

Deanna Troi stood amid the ruins of a cargo bay,
scanning with a tricorder for signs of life.
    More than anyone else, she was keenly aware of how
very near they had all come to dying; images of what
might have been--the same images that had haunted
her on the bridge soon after the collision--still visited
her dreams, with terrifying reality.
    At the same time, she felt liberated, rejuvenated by the
close brush with death. It had helped her to remember
what was most important, to give up her anxiety over
Worf and Will and what the future might hold.
    She had spoken with them both, and discovered they
both felt as she did--simply grateful to have survived,
and willing to let any relationships unfold naturally.
    She had spoken with countless crew members since
the crash, trying to help them sort out their emotions.
Surprisingly, the captain seemed reborn; Troi had ex-
pected that the loss of the Enterprise would come as a
double blow, but Picard took it well, and appeared to
have resolved his grief over the deaths of his nephew and
brother.

    She was far more concerned about Data. At the
moment, she stood near him, gazing out at piles of
collapsed bulkheads and bared, twisted circuitry.
    The android's expression was faintly anxious but
composed as he aimed his tricorder at a pile of rubble. "I
would like to thank you, Counselor, for helping me with
my search. It is very kind of you."
    "It's no problem, Data." She looked up from the
tricorder readout to smile at him. "I've already cleared
out what I can from my quarters. I'm afraid there wasn't
much left."
    "You are dealing with your loss very well. Certainly
better than I seem to be .... "He sighed glumly as he
moved over to a new area and began again to scan.
 "That's different, Data. I lost only things ....Be-
sides, I'm quite impressed with how you're handling
this."
    The android nodded, and said, with the faintest trace
of ingenuous pride, "It has been difficult, but I believe I
have the situation under control."
"So you've decided not to remove the emotion chip?"
"For now," Data said, gazing out at the wreckage.
"At first I was not prepared for the unpredictable na-
ture of emotions... but after experiencing two hun-
dred sixty-one distinct emotional states, I believe I
have learned to control my feelings." He squared his
shoulders with such touchingly innocent determination
that Troi repressed a smile. "They will no longer con-
trol me."
    "Well, Data," Troi replied approvingly, "I hope
that--" She broke off as her tricorder beeped, and stared
down at the readout. "Over here!" She gestured excited-
ly at the android. "I think I've found something."

244                                                                245

Data hurried over to her side, his eyes wide with
hope.
    Troi h~.~ ,,~ the tricotder so he could read it. "One life
sign, very faint."
    He handed her his tricotder and dashed over to the
source of the reading: a fallen bulkhead, which he pulled
aside with preternatural strength. Beneath it lay metal
fragments and the scattered contents of storage
containers--shredded uniforms, boots, food, medical
suppliesmall of which Data dug through with eager
swiftness, until he arrived at a piece of plating.
    He flung it aside to reveal Spot, wedged safely beneath
the rubble. She gazed up at the android and released a
throaty, plaintive yowl.
    "Spot!" Data crouched down, scooped up the cat, and
buried his face in her striped red fur; she immediately
began purring, so loudly and enthusiastically that Troi
released a soft, delighted laugh.
    "I am very happy to find you, Spot," Data murmured,
cradling the animal against his chest.
    "Another family reunited." Troi could not repress a
huge grin. She picked her way through the debris and
stood beside the crouching android, bending down to
give Spot a pat.
    Data turned, revealing golden eyes ashinc with tears;
Troi's smile faded at once.
    "Data," she asked softly, surprised and touched at the
sight, "are you all right?"
    He gave a small, sheepish shrug, causing a single
glistening drop to spill down his pale cheek. ',I am not
sure, Counselor. I am happy to see Spot... and yet I am
crying. The chip must be malfunctioning."

246

    Troi gently placed a hand on his arm. "No, Data. I ?~
think it's working perfectly."
 He looked up at her and smiled through his tears.

    In the wreckage of the ready room, Picard bent low,
sifting through the remnants of the past.
    He had learued from Soran the foolishness of grasping
at what was gone and could not be regained, at what was
by its very nature impermanent. There were many
belongings here that had been destroyed; things that he
had valued, that he would miss. Yet they seemed now
unimportant in the light of his experience in the nexus.
And they were, after all, only things, even if some of
them were unique and could not be replaced.
    Only one of those things mattered to him now. He
would accept its loss, if he must; but the rest he would let
go willingly, even cheerfully, if this one could be
retrieved ....
  "Is this it?" Riker called.
    Picard turned to gaze over at his second-in-command~
who stood in the midst of the overturned furniture and
scattered personal effects, holding up a large dust-
covered binder.
    "Yes," Picard said; the word served as a sigh of relief.
"Yes, Number One. Thank you."
    He and Riker picked their way to each other. Picard
took the album gratefully. The embossed cover had been
torn, but it appeared otherwise unharmed; he brushed
away the dust and opened it reverently to the last few
photos of his grinning nephew.
     Riker stood beside him, hands on hips, looking out at
 the devastation. "I'm going to miss this ship. She went
 before her time."

247

    Picard glanced up from the album, closed it carefully,
and followed Riker's gaze. "It's not how many years
you've lived, Will... but how you've lived them." He
paused. "Someone once told me that time is a predator
that stalks us all our lives. But maybe time is also a
companion ... who goes with us on our journey, and
remihds us to cherish the moments of our lives--
because they will never come again. We are, after all,
only mortal."
    For a time, Riker did not speak; and then the familiar
impish glint came into his eyes. "Speak for yourself, sir.
I kinda planned on living forever."
    The captain smiled at him as they stepped from the
ready room onto the wrecked bridge. A shadow passed
over Riker's features as he looked at the captain's chair.
    "I always thought I'd have a crack at this chair one
day."
    "You may still," Picard said. "Somehow, I doubt this
will be the last ship to carry the name Enterprise." He
hesitated a moment to give the bridge a final glance, to
fix it forever in his memory, then touched his comm
badge.
 "Picard to Farragut. Two to beam up."
    He straightened at the transporter's gentle whine, and
stood very still, watching, as the past dissolved.