A Time for War, A Time for Peace, page 27
She finally did open her eyes to see Captain William T. Riker standing on the deck. He looked—confused. Then again, given what they all went through, it’s not surprising.
“You knew I was coming?” As Riker spoke, he bent down to take off his footwear before coming onto the beach. Smart man, Vale thought. Navigating the shifting sands in anything but bare feet was just asking for trouble.
“I had a hunch. We may be in the middle of nowhere, sir, but news still makes it here.” She propped herself up by her elbows on the beach chair. “I heard the basics of what happened with the Romulans, and I heard who died—including Data.”
Riker rolled up the pants of his uniform and then walked over to where Vale’s beach chair sat. “Not exactly the milk run to Betazed we were expecting.”
“What’s the whole story? I heard the reports, but that’s not really the same thing.”
Taking a seat on the end of Vale’s beach chair, Riker did as she asked. He spoke of positronic emissions detected on a planet near the Romulan border, and the subsequent discovery on that planet of a prototype android that, like Data, was designed by Noonien Soong and that the eccentric old roboticist had named B-4. Immediately afterward came the part Vale knew from the Federation News Service: there was a coup d’état on Romulus, with a Reman named Shinzon now ruling the Romulan Star Empire. This was major news, given that the Remans had, up until now, been a slave race within the empire.
What the FNS didn’t mention was that the Reman wasn’t really a Reman—he was a human clone of Jean-Luc Picard. Part of a since-abandoned plot by the Tal Shiar, the Romulans’ secret police, to replace high-ranking Starfleet officers with their own agents, Shinzon was raised in the Reman mines, eventually rising to prominence as a centurion during the Dominion War.
To make matters worse, Shinzon needed Picard—something in the captain’s blood would save the clone from an early grave—and he used whatever means he could to get it. In the end, the Enterprise crew triumphed, but not before suffering heavy losses in battle to Shinzon’s powerful ship, the Scimitar.
Among those losses: Lieutenant Commander Data, who sacrificed his life to stop Shinzon once and for all.
“It should’ve been me.”
Riker shot Vale a look. “What was that, Commander?”
“I said it should’ve been me. I’m chief of security, it’s my job to do what Data did.”
“Nobody could’ve done what Data did. And if you were on board, you’d have been doing what Worf was doing in your place: repelling the Reman boarders.”
Vale didn’t accept that. Her job was to keep the rest of the ship safe—that’s what security did. That’s what Domenica Corsi did for her when she shot Dar back on Izar, and that’s what Vale swore to do every day of her life since then. That’s what she’d been doing for four years on the Enterprise.
She sat up all the way, as regulation as she could be while sitting in a beach chair and wearing only a bathing suit. “I’m sorry I let you down, sir.”
Riker looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “You didn’t let anybody down, Commander. You took a vacation—”
“When I should’ve been doing my job. I took advantage of your offer, and—”
“Did what every officer’s entitled to. I checked, by the way—you didn’t just have ‘a little bit’ of leave time coming, you had as much as possible without getting a formal reprimand on your record. Commander, you are entitled to the occasional break. We all are. And I think, particularly after what you’ve done for the past year, you earned the right to some time for yourself.” He leaned forward. “Duty doesn’t mean you’re on every hour of every day, Christine.”
“If you say so, sir.” Intellectually, she knew the captain was right. But thinking about the fact that Data, who was functionally immortal, was dead, it still didn’t feel right in her gut.
It should’ve been me.
She got up from the beach chair. The sunbaked sand flowed around and between her toes, sending a warm feeling through her feet.
Dammit, maybe Genestra was right about the guilt.
Then she realized just what she was thinking. Am I going to believe the smug manipulative bastard who was sent to the ship to give us a hard time by an admiral with an agenda? Or am I going to believe William Riker?
It wasn’t even a contest.
“You’re probably right, sir,” she finally said, favoring Riker with a small smile.
“I’m the captain now, Commander Vale—I’m always right.”
Running a hand through her auburn hair, she said, “Very good point, sir, I should’ve remembered that. My apologies.”
“I’ll forgive it this time,” Riker said with mock gravity.
She thought back over what Riker told her about the battle against this Reman, or human clone, or whatever he was. “Can I ask you a question, sir?”
“Name it.”
“What would this Shinzon guy have done if Starfleet sent a different ship? Or if someone else found that prototype android?”
Riker blinked. “I don’t know, Commander. To be honest, that really wasn’t our primary concern.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. So this android—what’s it called, B-4?—is still around?”
Nodding, Riker said, “Yes, and he’s got all of Data’s memories.” Suddenly, Riker squinted, as if he realized something. “Come to think of it, that also means he has Lore’s memories, Lal’s memories, and the personal diaries of the entire Omicron Theta colony where Data was created.” He shook his head and chuckled. “All in a brain that’s barely at the level of a four-year-old. That android’s gonna have an interesting life.”
“I’ll bet.”
With that, Riker stood up, and walked over to where Vale was standing. A gust of wind blew through, ruffling his hair and making the strands of gray stand out. “In any case, I didn’t just come here to give you the inside scoop. I came to make you an offer.”
This time, Vale blinked. “Huh?”
Grinning, Riker said, “The first officer position on the Titan is yours if you want it.”
Shaking her head a few times, Vale said, “But—what about Commander Worf?”
Riker hesitated. “After—after what happened to Data, Captain Picard requested to have him back on the Enterprise. On top of everything else, Worf’s star is pretty high right now, especially after single-handedly rescuing the embassy. It’ll be good PR for the Enterprise to have him on board after everything we’ve been through this past year.”
Vale nodded. “Can’t argue with that.”
“Besides,” Riker added, “you look much better in a bathing suit than Worf.”
Despite herself, Vale laughed. “Sir, you are a married man.”
“Yes, and my wife would rather Worf was in the bathing suit. But I’m the captain, so I get to make those determinations.”
“Lucky you.”
Vale looked up at Riker’s pleasant, bearded face. She liked the man, admired him, thought he’d make an excellent captain.
But will I make a deserving first officer? Or do I want to go on protecting the people on the Enterprise?
“What do you say, Christine?”
Vale made her decision.
The Traveler watched as a galaxy died.
Remnants of stars, fragments of planets, gases and particulate matter, energy of all kinds, it swirled toward the center like water flowing down a drain.
How many people lived there? the Traveler wondered. How many trillions of creatures lived and died in that galaxy? Who will remember them now that they’re gone?
“You shall,” said a voice that was both right next to him and across the universe. “That is why we travel—to witness the glory that is the cosmos.”
The Traveler let out a very long sigh. It was an affectation from his time as a human being named Wesley Crusher that he had never been able to shake. “I know,” he said. “And I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”
His fellow Traveler spoke in a teasing voice. “You almost did.”
“I know. When I went to save the Enterprise at Rashanar, it was really tempting to go back.” Thoughts of Colleen Cabot filled the Traveler’s mind, the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips—and the sound of the Orion disruptor blast that killed her.
He looked back out over the galaxy going through its death throes. “But then I wouldn’t have been able to see this. Or that stellar nursery. Or those spacesingers. Or—” He smiled. “Well, you get the idea. I couldn’t go back to a life where I’d be restricted to one corner of one galaxy when I’ve got the whole universe to explore.”
“So what brought you to this place?”
The Traveler paused and reflected on the question his fellow Traveler posed to him. Finally, he answered in one word: “Data.”
“The android you served with on the Enterprise?”
“Yeah. He died right after I saw him on Earth—and I knew when I saw him that he was going to die, but I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“You could have.”
“No. I learned my lesson on that score after Rashanar, believe me. But that’s why I made sure I was at the wedding. I wanted a chance to see him—and everyone else—one last time, before…” He trailed off. “It’s the cycle, I know that—life, death, rebirth. This galaxy will eventually be reborn. By the time that happens, the galaxy I’m from will be doing what this one’s doing now.”
The other Traveler prompted him. “And yet?”
“There’s an old human saying that one death is a tragedy and a million deaths is a statistic.” He pointed at the dying galaxy. “Trillions of trillions of life-forms are dying or have died because this galaxy is collapsing. But I can’t make myself feel that the same way I feel about Data. He was one of my best friends, and he should’ve been able to outlive all of us.” He smiled. “Well, except me, now, but you know what I mean.” Then, for the first time, he looked at his fellow Traveler, the one whom he first met on the EnterpriseD in the company of a small-minded fool named Kozinski, the one who later welcomed him into the Travelers’ ranks on Dorvan V. “There’s so much more I understand now, so many new ways of looking at the universe. That’s the other reason why I couldn’t go back—it’d be like living in a box to just be a regular human again. But if I’m so much more, then why can’t I—”
The other Traveler shook his head. “Ah, Wesley—don’t you see? When you became one of us, you became more than human, it’s true—but you didn’t become less human. You still love your friends, and you still care when they die. Even though you’ve expanded the nature of who you are, that doesn’t change the core. And at your core, you are still Wesley Eugene Crusher, son of Jack and Beverly Crusher, and friend to an android who is now gone.”
The Traveler turned back to the galaxy. He squinted, and could see the singularity at its center, pulling all matter and energy into its vortex.
After several moments, during which he saw three suns disappear into the singularity’s maw, he asked, “Does it ever make sense?”
“No. But we’re working on it.”
“I guess that’ll have to do. But you know what?” He turned back to the other Traveler. “I’m tired of dead things. Let’s go look at something living.”
Together, the two Travelers left the distant galaxy. One thought of how proud he was of his protégé, and how far he was progressing.
The other thought about how much he would miss his friend.
Sunrise on Qo’noS was beautiful.
Alexander had never really seen the sunrise over the Klingon Homeworld before. Watching it paint its fiery yellows and oranges across the First City filled Alexander with a sense of pride and accomplishment.
Today, finally, I’m home.
He had been Alexander, the son of K’Ehleyr. Then he was Alexander Rozhenko, after Father’s foster parents took him in. Then he joined the Klingon Defense Force, was made a part of Martok’s House as his father was, and he was Alexander, son of Worf.
Now he was Ambassador Rozhenko. Father had written a glowing recommendation, and President Bacco had formally appointed him to the post.
It was his first day on the job, and he was looking forward to it. The second-floor office had been stripped of all personal items, save one: a picture of Alexander as a mere babe with his mother and father, taken back on the EnterpriseD not long before Mother died. Father must have left it behind for me.
The picture hung on the wall, looking rather overwhelmed by the blank space around it. I’ll have to do something about that.
Moving over to the large wooden desk, Alexander stared down at the scattered mosaic of padds that covered the desktop, broken only by a com terminal. The padds’ displays were full of words like “resolution,” “request,” “meeting,” “extradition,” “High Council,” “Federation Council,” “legality,” “treaty,” and so on. He had no idea where to start.
Then he sat at the desk. He felt almost lost in the large leather chair, which had obviously been designed for his much larger father, and made a mental note to ask for a smaller one. “Computer, call up the day’s correspondences for Ambassador Rozhenko.”
The computer obligingly did as he said, and listed all seven hundred and ninety-four correspondences.
Alexander felt the blood drain from his face. “C-c-computer? Are these just today’s correspondences?”
“Results match search criteria. Messages displayed are those addressed to Ambassador Rozhenko since 2400 hours.”
Clutching the arms of his chair, Alexander asked, “What am I supposed to do with seven hundred and ninety-four messages? I mean, I’m not gonna have time to read them all. And then there’s all these padds.” He picked one up at random. It was ostensibly written in English, but Alexander found he couldn’t make heads or tails of what it actually said. “How can I—”
A voice from behind him said, “Computer, delete correspondences from this station.”
The screen went blank.
Alexander whirled around to see Giancarlo Wu standing in the doorway, wearing a blue shirt, matching pants, and a yellow vest.
The aide added, “Computer, raktajino.”
With a hum, the replicator provided the beverage. Wu removed it from the slot and handed it to Alexander, who grabbed it hungrily. His mouth had gone completely dry, and he needed something to calm his nerves. Okay, a stimulant may not be the best way to do that, but any port in a storm…
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, sir.” Wu pulled a padd out of his vest pocket. “You don’t need to view all those correspondences. That’s what the staff is for.”
Alexander felt fourteen kinds of stupid. “Oh.”
“If there’s anything that requires your personal attention, I or one of the other staff members will bring it to you.”
His heart rate starting to approach normal again, Alexander indicated all the padds. “What about all this?”
“I intended to clean this up before you got here, sir, but other matters distracted me. We’re still recovering from the takeover, plus there were several items that required my attention while you were getting settled in, so I haven’t had time—”
Holding up a hand, Alexander said, “It’s all right. You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Mr. Wu. I’m the new guy in town, and you’ve been doing this a long time. Just tell me what I need to do.”
Wu smiled and made a note on his padd. “Very good, sir.”
“One question—is that normal?”
Frowning, Wu asked, “Is what normal, sir?”
“That many messages—I mean, seven hundred and ninety-four just in one morning?”
Wu nodded. “That is unusual, sir.”
“That’s what I thought.” Alexander picked up his raktajino.
“It’s usually much more than that.”
Alexander almost broke his arm stopping himself from sipping the raktajino as he sputtered in shock. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. That’s why the staff goes through the correspondences.”
This time he sipped the coffee, then muttered, “Let’s hear it for the staff.”
As Wu started to go over the day’s agenda, Alexander finally let himself relax. Okay, a few bumps in the road, but this is definitely a good thing. It feels right. The Enterprise, Minsk, the Defense Force—I never fit in anywhere. But here—here I can really make a difference. Here I can be somebody.
He looked up at the picture sitting alone in the middle of an empty wall, and cast a thought at his parents: I’ll do you both proud, I promise you that.
Worf was mildly apprehensive concerning what he was about to do. However, Geordi La Forge had asked Worf to accompany him to clean out Data’s quarters, and the Klingon could think of no good reason to refuse him.
When Captain Picard had asked Worf to remain on the Enterprise following their mission to Romulus, Worf found himself unable to refuse that, either. He owed Picard a great deal, and as much as he looked forward to serving with Riker on the Titan, to be back on the Enterprise was the greater honor.
But this was not his Enterprise.
The vessel on which he had served proudly for eight years was long gone, and—though he had been on its successor several times, against the Borg, in the Briar Patch, during the gateways crisis, and any number of other occasions including this latest battle against Shinzon—he was never truly a part of this ship.
Until now. Worf was finally doing what he wished. Of his four years as an ambassador, he had no regrets, but he also knew that the best years of his life were in the service of Starfleet, whether on the bridge of the EnterpriseD or in Deep Space 9’s operations center or in the command chair of the Defiant or by Martok’s side on the Rotarran.
None of that, though, made what he and La Forge had to do any easier.
“Thanks, Worf,” La Forge said as they approached the door to Data’s cabin, each of them holding a small plastiform container. “I feel better having someone else along.”
“Of course.” If nothing else, La Forge was a good comrade of many years’ standing—as was Data.
They entered the darkened cabin. Data had decorated his quarters on this ship in a similar fashion to the way it was on the EnterpriseD. The walls were lined with paintings—Data’s own work—and a full computer station had been installed to allow the android a greater range of work functions.
