Part 31 (2/2)
The lost children had come home. The gestalt felt whole.
Now the Great Work can continue, Inyx announced, initiating the newest members of Caeliar society to its ongoing mission. More important, he added, now the Great Work can evolve.
Jean-Luc Picard was on his feet again. He felt taller than he had in ages. So many emotions were whirling in his mind that he couldn't name them all. Relief and joy were at the forefront of his thoughts, with wonder and grat.i.tude close behind.
The aft turbolift door opened, and Beverly stepped out. She hurried straight to his side. ”Worf called me,” she said.
She reached up, as if to touch his arm in a gesture of polite and dignified comfort.
Too full of life to settle for that, he embraced her, pulled her close, and pressed his face into the tender s.p.a.ce between her neck and shoulder. He reveled in the sweet scent of her hair, the pliant warmth of her body, the gift of her every breath, the miracle of their child-their son-growing within her.
At first, she seemed caught by surprise, and he understood why. Picard had never been one for public displays of affection, especially not in front of his crew. He no longer cared about that. She was his love, the one he had waited for, the one he had almost let slip away because he had been too timid to follow his heart, too cautious to indulge in hope.
He was done being careful. More than fifty years earlier, it had taken a Nausicaan's blade through his heart to teach him that lesson the first time. It had taken a trip to the edge of annihilation to remind him that life was not only far too short, but also far too beautiful and far too precious to enjoy alone.
”I'm all right, Beverly,” he whispered. ”We all are.” He pulled back just far enough to kiss her forehead and then her vibrant red lips. Parting from her, he looked around the bridge and saw a dozen faces bright with mildly embarra.s.sed smiles. He brightened his countenance to match and said, ”Carry on.”
Riker and Dax stepped forward to pat his shoulders. Just as Riker was about to say something, he was interrupted by Lieutenant Choudhury. ”Captain,” she said to Picard. ”Incoming hail, sir. It's Captain Hernandez.”
”On-screen,” Picard said, stepping forward behind the center of the conjoined conn and operations consoles.
Erika Hernandez's girlish features and enormous, unruly mane of sable hair appeared on the main viewer. ”Will, Ezri, Jean-Luc, I just wanted to speak to you one last time before we go, to tell you that I'm okay-and to say good-bye.”
”Before 'we' go?” Picard said, echoing her. ”You mean you and the Caeliar?”
A sly grin tugged at Hernandez's mouth. ”You don't need to speak of us as separate ent.i.ties anymore,” she said. ”I am one of the Caeliar now. In fact, I have been for a long time; I just hadn't been able to really accept it until now.”
Riker stepped forward on Picard's left and asked, ”Erika, what's happened to the Borg?”
”There are no more Borg,” Hernandez said. ”Not here, or in the Delta Quadrant, or anywhere else, for that matter. There are only Caeliar.” Her wan smirk became a broad smile. ”And if you'll excuse us, we have a new mission to begin.”
Dax edged forward and said, ”What mission?”
”To find and protect cultures of peace and nonviolence-so that perhaps someday in the distant future, the meek really can inherit the universe.”
”Good luck,” Riker said.
”You, too,” Hernandez said, and then the signal ended.
The screen switched back to the view of magnificently glowing, urchin-like Caeliar vessels huddled around the miniature star of Axion. Then, though Picard wouldn't have thought it possible, all of the s.h.i.+ps and the Caeliar metropolis flared even more brightly, scrambling the main viewer image into a distorted crackle of white noise. Less than a second later, the light had vanished-and so had Axion and its brilliant new armada.
On the screen, tiny and alone in the cold majesty of the cosmos, were t.i.tan and the Aventine. The rest was silence.
Worf relaxed his shoulders a bit and said to Choudhury, ”Cancel Red Alert.”
Whoops of jubilation erupted from the other officers around the bridge. Picard and Riker clasped each other's forearm and slapped each other's shoulders. ”We did it,” Riker said.
”No,” Picard said. ”Erika did it. We just lived through it.” He smiled. ”And that's good enough for me.”
He and Riker let each other go, and Riker turned to help Dax coax Worf into joining the celebration. Picard fell back into Crusher's arms and treasured the moment. There was a lightness in his spirit, an exuberance and an optimism he hadn't felt since the earliest days of his command of the EnterpriseD.
It took him a moment to put a name to this sublime feeling.
I'm free, he realized. I'm free.
Admirals Akaar and Batanides were pressed against the situation monitors in the Monet Room and surrounded by a clutch of junior officers, all of whom were scrambling to confirm the latest reports from the Enterprise, t.i.tan, and the Aventine.
If the subs.p.a.ce messages from the three stars.h.i.+ps were true, it would be nothing less than a miracle. It would be one of the most stunning reversals in the history of the Federation.
President Bacco knew she ought to be waiting on the admirals' report with undivided attention, but she was focused on a different spectacle. She and the other civilians in the room had gathered in a tight huddle in front of the painting Bridge over a Pool of Water Lilies.
Tucked in a fetal curl on the floor beneath the painting was Seven of Nine.
The statuesque blonde was normally so intimidating-Jas Abrik had described her with the less forgiving adjective ”castrating”-that it shocked Bacco to see her like this.
Only minutes earlier, Seven had been conferring with the admirals and a.n.a.lyzing the reaction of the Borg armada to its sudden dislocation across vast reaches of s.p.a.ce. Then, before anyone had realized anything was wrong, Seven had staggered away from the situation consoles, dazed and trembling. Seconds later, she had collapsed to the floor and folded in on herself.
Most of the people in the room had reacted by backing away from Seven, as if she might be transforming back into a drone bent on a.s.similating or a.s.sa.s.sinating them all.
Bacco had dashed from her chair toward the fallen woman, only to be forcibly intercepted by her senior protection agent.
”Ma'am, you should stay back,” Wexler had said.
”Stay close, Steve, but get your hands off me.”
Wexler let go of Bacco's arms and backed off. ”Sorry, Madam President.” She'd continued past him to Seven's side, and he had fallen in right behind her. His presence had seemed to rea.s.sure the others, who had slowly regrouped in a clutch around Seven.
Now Seven lay on her left side, with her arms wrapped around her head, unable or unwilling to respond to the gentle queries from Bacco and the others.
Piniero asked Seven, ”Can you hear us?”
No answer.
”I think she's hyperventilating,” Abrik said.
Secretary Iliop said, ”Maybe she's having a seizure.”
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