Star Trek_ Generations - J M. Dillard [64]
Overhead, the sky faded to the odd, faux-twilight gray of a solar eclipse. The trees surrounding them, which had rustled with animal life, went abruptly silent; a solitary bird released a tremulous cry that echoed off the nearby mountains, then fell quiet. As Picard stood gazing upward, Soran reclimbed the scaffolding against the backdrop of darkening sky, streaked with jagged, writhing energy. Once atop the pinnacle, the scientist raised his face toward the heavens; the glow from the ribbon lit his features, revealing the ecstatic, beatific expression of a saint.
In the gathering gloom, the wind picked up quickly and began to whip up dust. The ribbon neared, illuminating the plateau with unearthly light, filling the air with a strangely electrical charge, one that smelled of a recent lightning strike, one that made the hair on the back of Picards neck rise. He instinctively backed away until his back pressed against the scaffolding.
There was nowhere to run, nowhere to flee. He shut his eyes, grimacing at the airborne sand that stung his face, at the piercing crackle of the ribbon, at the light so dazzling, so colorful, it pained him despite his closed eyelids.
And then the ribbon intensified beyond all human capacity to bear; he cried out in agony at its deafening roar, its sheer brilliance, its blinding beauty.
And just as suddenly, there was no Picard, no Soran, no Veridian, no self or other. Only darkness …
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 navigation 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 unharmed, 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 shoulders. 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 weve landed, Troi whisperedto 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 face-up and motionless on the deck near the overturned command chair. His head was cocked at an odd angle, his eyes open and staring blankly up at the shattered dome.
My GodWill! She ran to him, seized by the dreadful certainty that he was dead, and fell to her knees.
Im 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 Trois 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 … and paused as the sunlight faded, and the bridge began