Unification - Jeri Taylor [30]
Chapter Eight
THIS TIME Picard knew it was a dream and he struggled to come out of it. He was flailing in a cloud of cold fog, crying and raging; another man was standing a distance away, struggling to free him from the oppressive cloud. Or perhaps that second person was himself… a second Picard… ? Who was it? He strained to make his way toward the man, but the roiling billows of icy vapor took on substance, and kept him from moving forward.
He could not remember ever being so cold. It was a bitter, damp cold that seeped into his muscles and joints and paralyzed them with pain. And it was such a sad thing to be cold; he sobbed with griefi Then, still wracked with anguish, he felt anger rising, a fury at the cold and damp, a frenzied flame within him, which ripped through his insides until he became uncontrollably furious. He raged at the crippling chill, shrieking his wrath until the sheer force of his fury helped warm him.
No! This weakness disgusts me/I hate it! Where is the logic? I am betrayed… betrayed… betrayed…
Someone else was with him now—was it the figure he had seen before? And who was he?—trying to pull him from the icy bog. A pinpoint of light appeared in the depths of the foggy mists, a light that glowed golden, spreading larger and larger, casting a warmth that seemed to melt the numbing cold, an orb that grew bigger and brighter, heat, welcome heat…
Where had the other man gone?
Picard opened his eyes and found himself looking into Data’s face, his yellow eyes reflecting concern. “Sir? Perhaps we have studied sufficiently. You might want to go to bed.”
Picard sat upright in the chair and discovered himself still in the cramped quarters on the Klingon ship Kruge. He felt as though he had been out for hours. “How long was I asleep, Mister Data?” he asked, his mouth dry and his voice hoarse.
“I do not believe you were asleep, sir,” replied the android. “You closed your eyes for only a fraction of a second.”
Picard stared at him briefly, then dropped his eyes to the padds on the table. They had been studying Romulan culture. It seemed like hours ago. He picked up his padd and keyed it, wanting desperately to regain a feeling of normaIcy. He forced himself to focus on the padd, where the words blurred and swam before his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut until he felt sure that when he opened them, they would behave as he willed.
Sarek was part of him. Whenever he slept, Sarek crept inside him, possessing him, becoming him. As he drew nearer to Spock, he couM feel Sarek more and more strongly.
Picard was startled when the door opened suddenly and K’Vada strode in. The strapping Klingon captain looked as threatening as ever and yet Picard sensed not menace but something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. A certain solicitude? Puzzled, Picard gazed up at him.
“Captain. In monitoring subspace messages we picked up a piece of information that might interest you.” He handed a padd to Picard, who glanced at it, instantly absorbed the message, and had to steel himself to respond in a normal voice.
“Thank you, Captain.” K’Vada gazed at him for a moment more, as though something might be forthcoming, then nodded and withdrew.
Data was staring at him, waiting patiently for an explanation to this peculiar scene. Picard turned to him and, as evenly as he could, read the message.
“Sarek is dead.”
He heard himself say the words and that gave them reality; until that moment he wasn’t sure if he might not be back in the dream. But the close Klingon quarters were real, and the dim lighting, and the miserable chair, and Data gazing at him with imperturbable saffron eyes. And the padd in his hand was real, and so, he knew, was its message.
He turned to the chair and sat, feeling disoriented. The room spun slightly and he fastened his eyes on the padd.
Then he felt something icy move through him, and he shivered.
Riker felt like laughing. Or humming. Or pacing or driving his fist into his palm. Instead, he sat in the command chair, staring