The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [93]
Sleep was out of the question. Even closing his eyes was asking too much when reminders of disaster continued to mock him at every turn. After leaving the conference room, he had walked through smoke-filled corridors and listened to the crackling exchanges of repair crews on the intercom; the deck had lurched several times as a gravity stabilizer weakened, then failed; and now, Picard could see the blackened hulk of the Romulan warbird drifting in space just outside his cabin window.
Perhaps Counselor Troi would argue that it was symbolic of his success in defeating an enemy.
She would remind him that not all conflicts could be resolved peacefully and that sometimes even the right decisions could not lead to triumph against overwhelming odds. To him, however, the wreckage was a reminder of his failure to protect his own ship.
The Enterprise was crippled, stranded far outside Federation territory, and he alone was responsible for this situation.
His glance dropped down to the Heart, a crude centerpiece for the elegant glass-topped table that held it.
What if this quest for the Heart’s destination was a fantasy created within his own mind? If that was the case, the entire starship crew would pay the price for his self-delusion. On the other hand, what if the Heart could help pull the Enterprise out of this predicament?
You have waited too long …
T’Sara had advised him to give up the stone, or at least to stop making use of its powers.
Yet, so far he had only taken part in the dreams. Surely there was no harm in that? And perhaps the dreams could show him the way to safety.
He stooped to pick up the Heart, his hands eagerly closing around its familiar shape. If there was even a chance of that being true, he must take the risk.
With measured steps and grim determination, Picard carried the stone into his bedroom. He placed it at the head of his bed, then slipped beneath the covers without bothering to undress.
Closing his eyes, he waited impatiently for that night’s dream to claim him …
The morning sun was still low in the Delula sky, but he could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. He shivered, chilled by a cool breeze brushing over damp skin, and rubbed his hands dry on the front of his thin shirt. There was nothing he could do to quell the fluttering emptiness in his stomach. He told himself the ache was hunger, but the very thought of food brought a rush of bile up his throat. He swallowed it down and fought against the impulse to gag.
“Nervous, Picard?” Chiang’s inquiry sounded sympathetic, but his mouth curled ever so slightly at one corner. His body was solid, thicker than Picard’s wiry form; his blue shorts and shirt were crisp and dry.
“No, I’m not nervous.” The hoarseness of his reply betrayed the raw burn in the back of his throat.
“No, of course not. After all, you’re going to win this race.” Chiang’s smile deepened into a sneer as he tossed a white towel into the air.
“Here, before you flood the field.”
Picard lunged forward to catch the towel before it could fall to the ground, a certain offense for a lowly first-year cadet. By the time he straightened up again, Chiang was walking back to a tight knot of upperclassmen gathered by the field house.
“Damn you,” Picard muttered softly under his breath, but he took no pleasure in the curse.
He cast a furtive glance at the cadets around him, wondering how many had noticed the exchange and understood its significance. They seemed intent on their own business Drager and T’Soron were on the grass, arms and legs waving gracefully back and forth as they stretched hamstrings and triceps; Miyakawa was knotting her hair into an intricate braid that would keep her long black tresses out of her face; and Gareth was fastening and refastening his shoes for the perfect fit that always eluded him.
“Too tight this time?”
The young Andorian looked up from his task.
“Too loose,” he corrected