Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [52]
“It’s funny. I don’t remember making a decision to skip family life. I just became wrapped up in my work and kept postponing and postponing until the decision seemed to have been made for me.”
Picard let disbelief show in his face. “I’m sorry, Julia, but I can’t believe that there has never been someone special for you.”
The doctor smiled wryly. “Oh, there have been a number of someones, and some of them have been special, but none of them stands out. I used to wonder if the person I was waiting for even existed.” Julia punctuated her words with a short laugh. “Then again, if he’s an alien, this is the perfect place to run into him. How about you? Was there ever a time … ?”
He shook his head. “No, it never seemed quite possible. For one thing, I was never in one place long enough.”
Julia stopped beneath a lightpost and turned to face him. “You know, Dixon, I think I was right about you.”
He met her gaze directly. “How so?”
She shrugged. “My first impression was that you looked like a good man.”
Picard looked into her eyes, so open and vulnerable. “I think my first impression of you was correct as well.”
“And what was that?”
“I thought you were lovely,” he said.
Julia smiled again. “As I recall, you were suffering from a moderate concussion that was affecting your vision.”
“Well, then,” he went on, “my more sober state of mind has borne out that first impression.”
Julia’s smile faded and she leaned into him, so close he could feel the warmth of her face. Then the kiss came, firm and tender. Picard responded briefly, and they broke apart at the same time.
For a moment, her face remained open, then closed behind a wall of self-consciousness. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very professional of me. You are, after all, still my patient.” She took a step back, composing herself. “I will stop by tomorrow to see how you are. You know the way back, don’t you?”
Nodding, Picard watched as she walked away. Grateful for her retreat, he continued to his quarters. Julia was just the sort of complication he was striving to avoid. He couldn’t have emotional ties to people who would so shortly …
Not when those ties could alter a history that he had no right to change.
“Mr. Hill,” came a voice from behind him.
The captain turned to see Lieutenant Harold striding to catch up with him. “Sorry, sir, but I’m supposed to see that you, ah—”
“It’s quite all right, Lieutenant. You’re under orders,” Picard assured him.
With his escort, the captain made his way back to his quarters. Though he wasn’t certain, he guessed that Harold would be stationed outside the door at least until he was replaced by another person. Now that Travers had made his suspicions clear, Picard doubted that he would be shy about letting his guest know how closely he was being watched. The situation complicated the captain’s plans significantly.
And Julia was an additional complication. He would have to keep his judgment absolutely clear. In the end, he would do what he had to do.
Yet the idea of sneaking out of the outpost like a thief in the night left Picard cold. Up until then, his unease with his plan had simply been a dark undercurrent to his thoughts. But now that he began to think in practical and immediate terms of his escape, it hit him: he would be running out on these people.
Julia and the rest of the colonists were not mere historical figures—at least not yet. They were living beings, Starfleet personnel—whom Picard had taken an oath to protect. And that oath did not specify the time periods in which those people lived.
Once again, he saw Julia’s face … her pleasure at sharing things with a stranger she should have been suspicious of, but trusted instead. Then he thought of Travers’s words.
The captain had never been called a coward before —certainly not by a fellow officer. And despite the years that separated their service, the man was a fellow officer.
What’s more, Picard still couldn’t muster an ounce of indignation—because he couldn’t be entirely sure that Travers wasn