A Time for War, a Time for Peace - Keith R. A. DeCandido [112]
Deanna, his Imzadi, looking as radiant and beautiful as ever.
And at the center of it all, as he had been for fifteen years, Captain Jean-Luc Picard.
“This,” he finally said, “may be the last time all of us are together. We’ve been through a lot.” He looked at Picard. “Q. Borg invasions. The Romulans coming out of their shell.” To Worf: “A Klingon civil war. The return of Kahless.” To La Forge: “The Phoenix flight. First contact with the Vulcans.” Back to Picard: “And a terrible, terrible war. We’ve seen friends die; we’ve seen legends die.” To Vale and Pulaski: “We’ve let friends go and seen new friends arrive.” To the two Crushers: “We’ve welcomed children into the world and we’ve let them go.” Finally, he looked at his Imzadi. “And now we’re all together one last time. A month from now, Worf, Deanna, and I will be on the Titan, Beverly will be frightening interns at Starfleet Medical, Wes will be traveling again. We’ll be moving on.”
He looked at each of them now in turn. “But for fifteen years on two starships, we got to make history. And I just want to tell you all here and now that it has been the pleasure of my life to make that history with all of you.” Looking at the woman he loved more than anything in the galaxy, he said, “Now we get to make one last bit of history together.”
Everyone clapped and cheered, except for Worf—who looked like someone had driven a spike into his head—and Picard, who stepped forward and put one hand on Riker’s arm, and the other on Troi’s.
“You know,” he said, “one of the hallmarks of a good captain is the ability to make pretentious speeches at the drop of a hat. I always knew you’d make a good captain, Will, and you just proved it.”
Everyone laughed at that—again, except Worf, who winced.
Picard looked at all of them. “Now come, friends, colleagues—family. Let’s get these two married.”
Epilogue
THE HEAT OF THE SUN warmed Christine Vale’s skin as she lay napping on the beach of her aunt and uncle’s house, making her feel as if she were glowing. A sudden wind wafted over her, then, cooling the skin down, and even causing a goose bump or two to pop up on her bare arms.
She lay parallel to the coastline of Rarotonga, the capital of the Cook Islands in the Pacific Ocean on Earth. If she opened her eyes, she could see the mountain at the island’s center to her right and the gently lapping waves of the Pacific on her left. But she had no interest in opening her eyes, content to nap, with the sun’s heat on her eyelids causing bursts of color in her vision. She had enjoyed the time spent with her aunt and uncle, whom she hadn’t seen since graduation day. Her mother’s sister met her future husband on Izar, but they moved to Earth shortly after they got married, since her uncle had this beautiful beachfront property.
Most of Vale’s leave had been spent lying on this beach wearing a bathing suit, the sun shining brightly on her while she thought about nothing. It was something—or, rather, nothing—she hadn’t done in far too long
The sound of footfalls on the nearby back porch of the house interrupted her nap. The tread was too heavy to be either of her relatives—who, like Vale, were rather petite, and unlike Vale, were also very slight—especially since they never wore the Starfleet-issue boots that were making the steps. Vale recognized whose boots they were within a moment.
Without bothering to open her eyes, she said, “I was wondering when you’d get here, sir.”
She finally did open her eyes to see Captain William T. Riker standing on the deck. He looked—confused. Then again, given what they all went through, it’s not surprising.
“You knew I was coming?” As Riker spoke, he bent down to take off his footwear before coming onto the beach. Smart man, Vale thought. Navigating the shifting sands in anything but bare feet was just asking for