Star Trek - TNG - Generations

by Generations

  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

  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 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 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

  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 gla
nced up to see Guinan, smiling in the doorway.

  "I'm glad to see you again." She seemed unharmed,

  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.... "

  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."

  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."

  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."

  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.