Star Trek_ Generations - J M. Dillard [71]
Sometimes the woman was Carol; sometimes, Ruth. Once he had returned to the far past, to Edith Keeler, and done the impossible: spared her life, without disturbing historys flow.
Through it all, he was consumed by joy. Though he could not remember how long ago the universe had turned magicalit could have been a year, a century, a millenniumhe still had vague memories of another reality, a true, concretized past. He remembered the Enterprise-B, and his last few moments there, rerouting the deflector circuitry, hurrying back down the corridor. And, of course, the explosion.
When he first appeared herewherever here was, for it constantly shiftedhe thought himself dead, died and gone to some enigmatic heaven. After a time, he decided he had been blown into some strange temporal anomaly, courtesy of the energy ribbon.
Either way, it didnt matter. He no longer wondered; he simply accepted, and enjoyed.
No more, he whispered, and even as he spoke, he felt the floor change beneath his feet, from soft carpet to hard-packed earth, felt the air against his skin grow bracing cold.
He opened his eyes to snowcapped mountains, vast against brilliant blue sky, and smiled.
FOURTEEN
But I know just the guy, Guinan said, and Picard glanced over his shoulder and up at a shrill, sudden cry. Against a backdrop of bright, cloudless sky, a hawk circled overhead, casting a shadow of its great spread wings over the frozen ground below.
Picard breathed in cold, pristine air scented with pine as he looked back, frowning, mouth open to ask Guinan what had happened to his children, to his home and found himself alone, in a small valley surrounded by spectacular snow-laden peaks. Earth, instinct said, yet unlike the home he had just left, this place sparked no sense of familiarity.
He folded his arms against the chill and turned slowly, taking in the entire view. Behind him, nestled against a rocky berm, stood a rustic cabin. He had begun to circle it, wondering whether he should find the front door and seek its occupants, when he heard a nearby knocking sound, emanating from around the corner of the house.
No. Not knocking. Chopping; the sound of someone chopping wood.
Picard quickly rounded the cornerand stopped abruptly in his tracks, releasing a silent gasp that hung as mist in the cold air.
It was, indeed, a man chopping wood. A Starfleet officer in a century-old uniform, to be more precise, who had removed his outer burgundy jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt in order to more comfortably wield the axe. But not just any Starfleet officer; this one had thick chestnut hair streaked with silver, hazel eyes full of quicksilver intelligence, and a broad, handsome facea face that Picard immediately recognized from the countless holos he had seen in classes at the Academy.
James Kirk, he breathed, not realizing until after the words were out of his mouth that he had spoken. His mind could not digest the fact that this legend was actually standing before him. But how …? Kirk had died three-quarters of a century ago …
Then he remembered: The Enterprise-B. Soran. the energy ribbon … Then Kirk had not actually died in the explosion, but had been transported directly to the nexus, just as he, Picard, had been.
Kirk hefted the axe over one shoulder; the blade swooped down in a gleaming silver arc and split the log at his feet with a loud thunk. And then he paused, and raised his flushed, sweat-beaded face to study Picard with eyes full of radiant wonder.
Picard knew the look; it was the same he supposed his own face had worn, when he had gazed upon Elise and his five children around the sparkling Christmas tree.
Beautiful day, isnt it? Kirks question