Star Trek_ Generations - J M. Dillard [65]
Sunset, she thought swiftly; perhaps it was only the approach of night. But the darkness descended too suddenly, unnaturally, and as she hesitated, the ground began to rumble beneath her feet.
Soran, Will whispered, with such defeat, such bitterness that it stole Trois breath.
The shock wave, she realized. Soran had succeeded in launching the probe. They had endured the crash and survived, only to be killed in the shock wave.
So, Worf said quietly beside her. The captain was right; the future is changed. He paused. It is not a dishonorable way to die. He turned to Troi and said, even more softly, If you are to die, I am glad to die with you.
Same here. Riker forced a smile, but his eyes were hollow. I wonder if the captain … He let his thought trail, unfinished.
She tried to return his smile, to look into the eyes of her friends one last time, and could not; the darkness grew, shrouding his face and Worfs until she could see them no more, until the bridge was veiled in blackness.
The rumbling grew until it felt like a mighty earthquake. She staggered, reached out and clutched Worfs arm to steady herself. He put it around her and held her tightly.
But this isnt right, she said suddenly, with inexplicable convictionthe same conviction she had felt when Picard had told her his experience of the future: her death, and the years of enmity between Worf and Will. She had known in her heart that that future would not, could not come to pass.
Just as certainly now, she knew that this future was simply wrong, that she and the Enterprise crew had never been meant to die together like this …
Its not right. Her words were swallowed up in the shock waves deafening roar. The earth swelled like a wave, pitching her and Worf to the deck.
Its not right, she repeated, even as the ship around them began to vibrate and the ground beneath grew hot. It was her last thought, even as the bulkheads around her began to glow and her uniform burst into flame.
Its not right
Its not right
Its not right …
THIRTEEN
Darkness. Picard drew in a breath and gathered himself; for a moment of dizzying disorientation, he could not remember who he was, where he had come from. Soran, Veridian III, the energy ribbonthe memories seemed as distant to him as an ill-remembered dream.
Most disorienting of all, he did not know where he was. He was not blind; his vision was obscured by what felt to be a simple cloth blindfold, which he could not remove because someonewith a warm, gentle touch held his arms.
Smaller hands tugged at his uniform at the waist, at the knees, leading him slowly across thick carpet. He knew at once by the smell, by the feel of the floor beneath his boots that this was not the Enterprise.
Yet he felt as comfortable here as there; perhaps more so. Despite his confusion, he felt no fear.
A heavy door creaked open, releasing with it a waft of scented air. Picard filled his lungs with it, savoring, identifying: Pine. Nutmeg. Apples. Cinnamon. And a smell he had not experienced since his childhood: A roasting goose …
He was guided forward a few more steps; then, abruptly, the hands released him. He paused, wavering.
Whats going on? Where am I? There was no indignation in his question, only curiosity.
A tug at the back of his head. The blindfold dropped. Picard blinked at the kaleidoscopic blur of color and light as his surroundings came into focus.
It was a large, high-ceilinged family room, twenty-fourth-century French from the looks of it, and in its center was a huge Christmas tree asparkle with light. Picard gaped in pleasure. Clustered beneath the treewhich towered at least a meter above himlay presents of every conceivable size and shape, wrapped in gleaming gold and red and green foil. Branches of fresh holly garlanded the wooden staircase banisters and the stone mantel above the hearth, where a decorated Yule log blazed.
And in the midst of this holiday splendor, five children stood, smiling and expectant, their bright gazes all focused on him.
Picard looked at each of them with wonder.