The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [127]
He threw himself down on the bed without bothering to undress, but even though his body was spent, his mind clung tenaciously to consciousness.
For the first time since he had touched the Heart, he was alone in the darkened cabin.
No more dreams …
After its long fight to reach the wormhole, the seed was working its way toward another world. Someday it would land on alien soil, and a new Guardian would grow to maturity, crystal by crystal.
Picard’s hands clenched, then relaxed. The aching hunger to touch the Heart’s rough surface was fading away.
His sharply etched memories of other hands that had cupped its weight—of Kessec and Halaylah, of a dying Andorian healer and an exultant Romulan queen—all these were dimming as well. He could recall the shriveled face of the Collector in her chamber, but he had lost the image of her in life; and there had been a young Vulcan scrambling through a field of fallen soldiers, but Picard no longer remembered where the boy was going or why.
Ko N’ya. One bearer lingered long enough in his mind to whisper its name for the last time.
“It’s gone, T’Sara,” said Picard softly. “The blood has finally stopped flowing.”
Then he fell into a dreamless sleep.
Epilogue
Camenae snapped the towel into the air to shake off any dust, then plucked a tumbler out of the shipping carton and wiped away the packing foam.
When the glass sparkled once again, she tucked it into a low shelf beneath the bar.
Guinan had donated the glassware to the new venture; Anlew-Is had imported the counter from Orion in payment of his past debts; and the two tables and five chairs in the middle of the lounge were on temporary loan from the Starfleet office.
Miyakawa had cheerfully acknowledged that she wouldn’t have time to sit down for at least the next two years.
Camenae snapped the towel again, then picked up a long-stemmed wineglass. Although the commander was driving the base reconstruction effort with a manic zeal that probably would win her a promotion to commodore before the year was out, a few amenities were still lacking. Sonic dishwashers, for instance.
The doors to the room slid open, and a young man peered inside. He hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the sparsely furnished interior, then evidently took courage from the presence of other customers and crossed the threshold.
The Do or Die was not officially open for business, but a few people had already drifted inside this morning, content just to sit and talk. There was only one familiar face in the group of Rigelians who had settled at one table. Some of the old customers had been killed when Smelter’s Hold was destroyed; others, like the bartender, had left during the evacuation and never bothered to come back. Camenae could have used some extra help with setting up the new establishment, but unfortunately Miyakawa paid better wages.
The newcomer sidled up to the bar. At close quarters, he looked even younger than she had first thought. Beneath the furrows of his brow, his round face wore the anxious, earnest look of a child trying to act like an adult.
He tossed a credit chip onto the counter with an awkward imitation of nonchalance.
Camenae glanced down at the payment, then smiled. “My drinks aren’t that expensive.”
“I didn’t come here for a drink. I heard you could give me some information.” He shoved the credit chip closer to her.
“What kind of information do you want?” she asked.
“I’m trying to find a Vulcan named T’Sara.”
With a sigh, Camenae said, “I can’t take your money for that information. Everyone on this starbase has heard of T’Sara’s death.”
The boy’s violet skin flushed a deep indigo, and he bowed his head as if in sorrow.
“I’m sorry,” she said, with a frown of discomfort at his reaction. “I didn’t realize you knew her.”
“I didn’t.” Yet when he lifted his head, his eyes were filled with pain. “I read that she once visited my homeworld, and I had hoped to talk to her about her trip.”
Camenae expected the boy to take back the credit chip and leave, but he swallowed hard and dropped his