The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [126]
Kierad@an was deeply grateful for the change of scenery after the prolonged examination of his own soul.
Over the days of their return journey to DiWahn, he would have the freedom to enjoy this expansive vista of stars.
The admiral of the fleet was less inclined to philosophical musings. After a cursory glance to check the formation of the armada trailing behind the flagship, Daramad@an continued his argument against their retreat. “But Master, the powers of the Gem could have carried our people back to the grandeur of our Iconian ancestors.”
“We fell from that height because Jiak held on to the Gem too long. Our duty as Guardians was to make atonement for his misjudgment, not to repeat past mistakes.”
This had been the consensus of a long line of masters, and Kierad@an had adhered to the s pirit, if not the letter, of their directive. He had forsaken the honor of personally sending the Gem on its way through the wormhole, but then he had also avoided the temptation to keep it for another five thousand years.
A heavy sigh from Daramad@an signaled an acceptance, if not an understanding, of his leader’s wisdom. “Having left this battlefield empty-handed, must the Order of the Faithful disband?”
“No, Admiral, there is a great deal of work still to be done. A new era has begun for the descendants of dead Iconia. You and I will return to a country that is at peace with its neighbors for the first time in centuries; your fleet will serve the needs of our planet, not a war-mongering king. Our store of knowledge will be shared with all who seek it.”
Iconia’s scattered children had spent too many centuries resisting their fate. With some sadness, but even greater pride, Master Kierad@an announced, “The unDiWahn are now the DiWahn.”
Ten-Forward provided one of the best scenic views aboard the Enterprise, but tonight Picard had been unsettled by a sense of vulnerability when he entered the lounge. Halfway through dinner, he angled his chair to avoid looking out the spacious windows. After that, his sense of dread gradually dissipated.
“Earl Grey?” asked Guinan as she passed by the table.
“Yes, please,” said Picard. “Most definitely Earl Grey.”
For some reason the mention of tea touched off the memory of a sharp, bitter taste. The basis of this odd association hovered just out of reach.
“Jean-Luc?”
He blinked, then realized that he had been staring at his dinner companion without truly seeing her.
At least Beverly was smiling at his distraction.
It was a generous reaction considering he had invited the doctor to join him, then proceeded to lapse into longer and longer silences.
“Jean-Luc, why don’t we—” “Here you are.” Guinan set a steaming cup of tea down in front of the captain, then rushed away before he could thank her. She had been especially attentive this evening, which was her way of expressing affection.
Picard wrapped his hands around the warm, round cup. “You were saying?”
“Hmm? I don’t remember.”
“Why don’t we …” he prompted.
“Oh, yes. Why don’t we call it a night. You’re obviously exhausted.”
He fought against the sudden urge to yawn, but lost. When his mouth had stopped its convulsive gaping, he said, “I suppose you’re right. I have quite a bit of sleep to catch up on.”
This admission of weariness seemed to sap away the last of his strength. He tried to sip his tea, but the weight of the cup was too much for him to lift more than a few inches off the table.
“Come on, Captain,” said Beverly, rising from her chair. “I’ll see you to your cabin.”
“According to ancient etiquette,” muttered Picard, “that’s supposed to be my line.”
Despite this half-hearted protest, he let the doctor take hold of his arm and guide him out of Ten-Forward.
By the time they had threaded their way through the ship’s corridors to the door of his cabin, Picard could barely lift his feet. Beverly propelled him through the open threshold with a gentle push, and he stumbled to the bedroom with his eyes already half-closed