by David Mack
Sometimes videos do history no justice, he mused.
A majority of the personnel who had packed into the high-ceilinged compartment to take advantage of its unobstructed view were not regular Titan personnel but technicians, mechanics, and engineers assigned to the Utopia Planitia facility. Among them, Ra-Havreii recognized many former friends and colleagues of his, from his days working there as a project director and star-ship designer. He hadn’t spoken to many of them since the accident years earlier aboard the Luna, and he felt no desire to do so now. For their part, they seemed content to ignore him as well.
A whiff of delicate perfume stood out from the scents of flowers and green plants, and it turned Ra-Havreii’s head. Standing behind his left shoulder was Lieutenant Commander Melora Pazlar, once more outfitted in her powered armature. Ra-Havreii smiled at her. “Good morning, Melora,” he said.
“Good morning, Xin. Room for one more up front?”
The young Catullan man standing on Ra-Havreii’s left glanced at Pazlar and then at the chief engineer, who furrowed his snowy brows and growled, “Make a hole, Crewman.”
“Aye, sir,” said the Catullan, as he nudged the rest of the line down a few steps to free up room for Pazlar.
She inched forward and pressed in close beside Ra-Havreii. “Thanks, Xin.”
“My pleasure,” he said. Looking around at the crush of spectators, he added, “I thought you hated crowds.”
“I do,” she said. “But I hate missing out even more.”
Over the soft murmuring of the crowd, someone at the aft end of the compartment shouted, “Here they come!” Everyone leaned toward the windows and craned their necks, straining to see past everyone else, to bear witness to history.
Pazlar and Ra-Havreii shifted their weight and stood at matching angles while staring out at the stars, awaiting the main attraction. Facing aft, the blond Elaysian woman had her back to Ra-Havreii, who savored the fragrance of her hair.
“It’s too bad they had to shut down my holopresence network while making repairs,” she said over her shoulder, making eye contact as she noticed how close their faces were.
He nodded. “Yes, it’s a shame. But the interruption is only temporary. Oh! Did I tell you about the new asymmetric interaction mode I created for it?”
“No, I don’t think you did.”
“You’re going to love it,” he said with unabashed pride in his work. “It lets your holographic avatar inflict amplified physical damage on real opponents while preventing any harmful effects from being transmitted back to you. It could prove very useful if Titan ever gets boarded again.”
She smiled at him. “I have a theory about the holopresence system, you know.”
“Really?” His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Do tell.”
“I think it’s proof you’re in love with me.”
Affecting a nonchalant air, he replied, “Ridiculous.” Noting the amused glimmer in her gaze, he added with some hesitation, “I mean … love is, um, such a strong word, and we hardly—that is, we …”
“Simmer down, Commander,” Pazlar said. “It’s not the least appealing idea I’ve heard lately. And some of your past conquests have assured me that you know how to be gentle.” Another teasing look. “Which is important for a gal like me.”
“Well, obviously,” he said. Tamping down his surging excitement, he decided to handle the matter with delicacy. “I find your invitation almost irresistible,” he began.
She sounded insulted. “Almost?”
“Nigh irresistible,” he corrected himself. “But before I surrender to my passions—and yours—it’s absolutely vital that I be completely honest with you.”
“About what?”
“Well, about me,” he said. “I am deeply attracted to you, Melora, and in ways that I haven’t felt about someone in a long time. But I’m afraid it’s simply not in my nature to be, well, monogamous.”
She snickered, and then she laughed. “Who’s asking?” Shaking her head, she turned aft and added softly, “Let’s just see how our first date goes, okay?”
The more he learned about her, the more he adored her.
“Okay,” he said. “Sounds like a plan.”
Shining brighter than the stars, a white point grew larger as it neared the Utopia Planitia orbital shipyard. Edges resolved into forms and then into two distinct shapes linked by a glowing beam. At the forefront, a Sabre-class starship. Towed behind it, and held together by who knew what kind of high-tech legerdemain, was a twenty-second-century NX-class starship, its hull and nacelles scarred but still together.
An announcement over the intraship comm echoed from the overhead speakers. “Attention, all Titan personnel,” said Commander Vale. “Muster starboard for passing honors.”
Outside, the Sabre-class vessel adjusted its course to glide past overhead, giving Ra-Havreii and the other spectators a perfect view of the registry on the ventral side of its primary hull: U.S.S. da Vinci NCC 81623. With precision and grace, its tractor beam guided its ward, the Columbia NX-02, past Titan to safety inside a docking slip.
Ra-Havreii didn’t feel foolish or embarrassed to have tears brimming in his eyes while he watched the Columbia’s long-overdue homecoming, because everyone else in the arboretum did, too. With a solemn nod of salute to the old vessel, he whispered, “Welcome home, old girl.”
* * *
The personal transport pod had barely settled to the ground near Vicenzo Farrenga’s home in Lakeside on Cestus III when his five-year-old daughter, Aoki, was out the pod’s side hatch and sprinting for the front door of their house.
He called after her, “Sweetie, wait for Daddy!”
The sable-haired little girl stopped on the snaking path of organically shaped paving stones that led away from the landing area. Vicenzo and his cousin, Frederico—more commonly known as Fred—pulled themselves out of the vehicle with the stiffness of men tasting their first years of early middle age.
“If you want to take the twins, I’ll grab your bags,” Fred said, using his handheld control to open the rear hatch.
“That’d be great, thanks,” Vicenzo said.
He released the magnetic locks that held in place the horizontal bar of his infants’ tandem safety seat. Then he lifted them out one at a time—Colin first and then Sylvana—and guided them into a double-pouch baby sling that enabled him to carry both children at once, one against his chest and the other on his back, while keeping his hands free.
As he straightened under the weight of his heavier-by-the-day scions, he saw that Fred had finished unloading the luggage and apparently was pondering which pieces to take inside first. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he said to his cousin. “Start with Aoki’s bags—she mostly has pajamas and stuffed animals.”
“Right,” said Fred, who stacked Aoki’s smaller flowered bags on top of a large one with wheels, extended the bottom bag’s towing handle, and pulled it behind him as he followed Vicenzo toward the broad, immaculate A-frame cedar house.
Vicenzo breathed in the cool early morning air and admired the view of Pike’s Lake surrounded by mostly undisturbed forest. Sunlight sparkled on the water, and a breeze brought him scents of wood smoke and pine.
His was one of few homes that had been built around the lake. One of the most attractive features of this piece of property, in his opinion, was that none of the houses around the lake had a view of another. Each was sequestered in a nook of the shoreline and sheltered by the forest.
He checked and confirmed that his two canoes and one row-boat were still tied to the small dock behind his house. The lawn furniture didn’t appear to have been pilfered during his absence, and that much more was once again right in his world. He’d just spent seventeen days making an arduous, impromptu round-trip journey with his children, who had pestered him with an endless barrage of questions. There had been no way to tell them that they had, in fact, been running for their lives from the Borg, because Mommy had said to leave Federation space.
/> Even after President Bacco’s startling address, when it had become clear that the Borg threat was over, getting home hadn’t been easy. By then, he and the children had reached Pacifica, along with several million other hastily displaced refugees. It had taken six days to get there, then five days to book passage on another transport back to Cestus III. And, as he’d feared, he’d been deprived of communications every step of the way, up to and including the moment he and the kids had landed.
Fortunately, Fred had never even considered being evacuated from Cestus III and had been home with nothing better to do, as usual. After a gentle browbeating, he had agreed to come pick up Vicenzo and his brood from the starport in Johnson City.
Trudging up the walk to the house, Vicenzo winced as both twins began crying at once. In front of him, Aoki hopped with manic energy after barely plodding along behind him for two weeks. She cut the air with a shrill plea: “Faster, Daddy!”
“Hold your horses, Pumpkin,” he said.
It’s good to be back at the house, he thought with relief. It’ll be nice to sleep in my own bed. And eat my own cooking.
As he approached the front door, it swung open ahead of him, and he stopped in midstride.
His breath caught with hope and surprise.
Aoki spun around toward the house and shrieked, “Mommy!” She ran at a full gallop into Miranda Kadohata’s wide and waiting arms. Miranda scooped the girl off her feet, kissed her, and spun her around and around as they laughed with glee.
Vicenzo desperately wanted to sprint to his wife, but he didn’t want to risk shaking the twins, so he trotted in a funny way that minimized the bouncing of his hurried steps.
Miranda turned, perched Aoki on her sundress-clad hip, and held the girl steady with her right arm; she used her left to embrace Vicenzo and the babies. She felt amazing in his arms, and she smelled even better. He had missed every inch of her.
“Welcome back, love,” she said, her eyes gleaming with grateful tears. She kissed the top of Colin’s head, and then she touched her fingertips to Sylvana’s sparsely covered scalp and massaged it, in a peculiar flexing gesture that Vicenzo had nicknamed the hand spider. Within moments, both twins had stopped crying. She smiled at Vicenzo. “It’s good to be home.”
He kissed her again. “It is now.”
* * *
“A toast,” Picard said, standing up from the table and raising his champagne glass. He waited for his dining companions to lift their own flutes, and he continued, “May our friendships, like fine wine, only improve with time’s advance, and may we always be blessed with old wine, old friends, and young cares. Cheers.”
“Hear! Hear!” replied Will Riker, who saluted Picard with his glass and then took a sip, cuing the other guests to drink.
Picard returned to his chair beside Beverly, who sat on his left. Riker occupied the other seat beside her, and past him was Deanna Troi. An empty chair separated Troi from Ezri Dax.
“What an amazing dinner,” Dax said, gathering another spoonful of chocolate mousse. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Every new commanding officer deserves to be treated at least once to a meal in the Captains’ Lounge,” Picard said with a collegial smile. “Not only is the cuisine exquisite, but the view is spectacular.”
His comment turned everyone’s eyes to the vista beyond the restaurant’s concave wraparound wall of flawless transparent aluminum. Set against a perfect black curtain of star-flecked space was the majestic, looming curve of Mars’s southern hemisphere.
The real focus of attention, however, was the newly arrived vessel in the docking slip below the VIP guests’ table. The Columbia NX-02 was being swarmed over and doted on by a small army of engineers, mechanics, and technicians, who had begun the task of restoring the ship so that it could return under its own power to Earth orbit, completing the ill-fated journey it had started more than two centuries earlier.
Riker sighed with admiration of the vintage starship. “They really knew how to make ’em back then, didn’t they?”
Dax replied with mock injured pride, “I think they make ’em just fine now, thank you very much.”
“It is amazing, though,” Troi said. “To think of how much of history was shaped by the fate of that one ship.”
“Like the butterfly effect,” Beverly interjected. “One decision today can spell life or death for a billion people a hundred years from now. You just never know.”
“True,” Riker replied. “Maybe the universe is more like the subatomic realm than we normally think—full of invisible effects and unseen consequences.” He looked at Picard. “What do you think, Jean-Luc?”
“I think perhaps you’ve all had enough champagne,” he said, trying to hold a stern poker face and failing as a smile cracked through his mask of propriety. It felt good to laugh and be the man he’d hidden from view for so many years. He felt as if he had come home to himself at long last.
His friends chortled good-naturedly with him, and then Riker said, “Seriously, though, what do you think?”
Picard permitted himself a moment of introspection. Until recently, he had dreaded such self-reflection, because his inner life had been haunted by the shadow of the Borg. Now, granted a measure of peace and solitude, he thought about the sensations and impressions that had lingered after the Caeliar’s transformation of the Collective. He sipped his demitasse of espresso and appraised his newly altered worldview.
“I think that we’re all echoes of a greater consciousness,” he said. “Cells of awareness in a scheme we can’t understand. At least, not yet.”
Beverly seemed taken aback by his answer. Leaning toward him, she rested her hand on his forearm and said, “Is that really what you believe, Jean-Luc?”
He arched one eyebrow. “I hesitate to call it a belief,” he said. “Let’s just say it’s an idea that I’m entertaining.”
“Pretty big idea,” Riker said, flashing his trademark smile behind his close-cut salt-and-pepper beard.
Picard shrugged. “Why think small? Thinking is free.”
Dax folded her napkin and set it on the table. “Sorry to eat and run, but I have to get back to the Aventine by 1900. We’re expecting new orders from Starfleet Command.”
As she got up, Picard and Riker stood as well. Smoothing the front of his tunic, Picard said with genuine optimism, “An exploration mission, perhaps?”
“Not likely, I’m afraid,” Dax said. “I spoke to Admiral Nechayev before I came to dinner. She told me the Aventine’ll be needed to help coordinate rescue and recovery efforts inside the Federation for at least the next few months.” She frowned. “Seems like a waste of a perfectly good slipstream drive, if you ask me. Now that it’s fully online, I was hoping we’d get to visit a new galaxy or something.”
Riker gently chided her, “A new one? Do you mind if we finish exploring this one first?”
“Don’t be silly, William,” Dax teased, standing on tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. “That’s what Starfleet has you for.” The sweetness of her smile took the sting out of her jibe. To Picard, she said, “Captain, it’s been a pleasure and an honor. I hope our paths get to cross again someday.”
“I’m certain they will,” Picard said. With a nod at the table, he added, “But next time, you’re buying dinner.”
“You’re on,” the diminutive Trill captain said. Then she turned, said her farewells with Beverly and Troi, and left the restaurant in quick strides, without a backward glance. By the time she had finished her exit, Troi and Beverly had risen from the table to stand with Riker and Picard.
“She’s something else,” Beverly said, with a combination of admiration and exasperation.
“Yes,” Troi said. “She’s exceptionally sure of herself.”
Picard and Riker traded amused glances, and Picard said to the two women, “She can’t help it—she’s a Dax.”
Crusher poked Picard’s chest. “And I’m a Howard woman.”
“And I’m a daughter o
f the Fifth House, heiress to the Sacred Chalice of Rixx and the Holy Rings of Betazed,” Troi said. After a horrified pause, she added, “And I’m turning into my mother.”
“God, I hope not,” Riker muttered.
“What was that?” Troi snapped.
“Nothing.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Sensing that it might be a good time to change the subject, Picard said, “Does Titan have its new orders yet?”
“Nope,” Riker said. “We’re moving to McKinley Station tomorrow at 0800 for some upgrades and refits. We’ll find out what’s next once we’re done with repairs.” He shook his head and after a rueful sigh, added, “I do love a surprise.”
“Listen to you two,” Beverly said to the men. She and Troi looked irked with them as she continued, “You talk like the biggest things in your lives are light-years away.”
Troi added, “Did you forget your new assignments already?”
Knowing glances of mock dread passed between the two men.
“Parenthood …,” Riker began.
“… the final frontier,” Picard finished.
Beverly pretended to ignore them as she asked Troi, “Have you two picked out a name yet?”
“No,” Troi said. “You?”
Beverly shook her head. “Not yet. It’s been a matter of some … contention.”
“I know the feeling,” Troi said, wrinkling her brow in frustration at her husband, who rolled his eyes.
“We should go,” Riker said. He reached forward and shook hands with Picard. Before the elder captain could speak, Riker added, “Don’t tell me to be careful.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Picard said. “Be bold.”
“That sounds like the Captain Picard I know.” He let go of Picard’s hand, slapped his shoulder, and added more softly, “Good to have you back.” He and Troi bade Beverly farewell, and Picard saw them off with the hopeful valediction, “Au revoir.”
Then he and Beverly were alone in the Captains’ Lounge, which had been closed for his private event. Sometimes being a famous savior of the Federation had its perquisites.
Beverly took his hand, and they stood together, staring in wonder at the austere majesty of the universe. A grim chapter of his life now felt closed, and a new, brighter chapter was about to begin. Old debts had been settled, and old promises had been kept. His obligations to the past were fulfilled, and for the first time in decades, he was free to contemplate the future.