Star Trek_ Generations - J M. Dillard [63]
Soon; soon he would be with Leandra, and as he pulled out his pocket watchthe only tangible remnant he had of her in this hellish universehe stared into its blank, crystalline face and instead saw hers.
Halfway across the scaffolding, he glanced up, startled not into his dead wifes face, but Picards.
With pure, mindless instinct, Soran raised the disruptor to fire, but Picard moved faster, with a desperation that came close to matching Sorans 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 Sorans 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 captains 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 Picards blows were tempered with reason, compassion; 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 devouring its own children?
Soran struck out again with unrestrained fury, shrieking at the unfairness of the situation, at the implacable passage of time. His fist once again connected with the captains jaw. This time the air rushed from the humans lungs with an audible hiss as Picard was hurled backward against the metal scaffolding.
Victory, Soran thought, and moved in for the final blowonly 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.
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 captains.
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 skya great serpent, but one that would lead to paradiseand listened to the distant hum of the launcher 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 Veridians 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 … weve 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 René; but to know that he had failed his crew, who might be caught by the coming shock