108 109

EIGHT

Picard sat at the desk in his quarters and stared down at the holo in the open album before him. In the background, classical music played softly; at his elbow, a cup of tea sat cooling. But the music remained unheard, the tea undrunk; he could focus on nothing save the picture before his eyes, a scene from happier times: the Picards mRen6, Robert, Marie—at their family estate. Robert had presented it to him a few years ago, when he was visiting the vineyard.

Picard gently laid fingertips against a corner of the holo, as if to capture the moment pictured there. There was his shyly grinning nephew, Ren6, flanked by his mother and father. Ren6 would be some four years older now—taller, with a deeper voice, but the same cap of golden brown hair falling in a straight fringe above the same bright, intelligent eyes full of promise. Picard remembered the moment of their first meeting, on the family estate. He had teased the boy, but only to hide his own amazement, for he had looked on Ren6 and seen himself. He’d seen, too, the gleam of admiration in the

110

boy’s eyes, and realized self-consciously that Ren6 looked up to his uncle Jean-Luc as a hero.

Marie had later confessed that Ren6 wanted nothing better than to follow in his uncle’s footsteps, to become a starship captain. There she stood beside her son, golden-haired, graceful, and warm, the perfect counterpoint to her husband.

Robert stood, glowering and stiff as ever, chin tucked in, eyes narrowed and gleaming with faint disapproval at the world… and secret pride for his son. Dressed like a modern French peasant; always the traditionalist, Rob-ert. A faint, fond smile played at the corners of Picard’s lips. Always the conservative, who predictably raised a great hue and cry when he discovered his son’s interest in Starfleet. Always grudging, always stodgy. Always. Always…

Time is the fire in which we burn It was as if Soran had known.

Picard squeezed his eyes shut at the words, trying to blot out the mental image they evoked: Ren6, Robert, screaming in final agony as flames consumed them. What had it been like in those terrible, final seconds before death? What had it been like for Robert, to see his only son burned alive, to know that they would never escape? Or had he perished first, leaving Ren6 to suffer the final torment… ? Stop. Stop.

He could not be sure it had happened that way; perhaps they were unconscious, overwhelmed by smoke. Perhaps there had been no pain. He knew nothing of the details and most likely never would. He knew nothing,

111

only what was contained in the blunt message from Marie:

Robert and Rend killed in fire. Memorial service Wednesday. Will understand if you can’t attend.

What personal hell was she dwelling in now? She had clearly not trusted herself to send a visual or even a voice message. Picard felt a surge of guilt. He should be there now to comfort her—but duty did not permit it. Amargosa had intervened.

Yet in the hours since he had first received the news, he had found himself unable to fulfill that duty, turning everything over to Riker.

Correction: He had found himself unable to do anything save look upon the faces of the dead, who gazed back from the safety of the past. He had been too stunned even to weep.

He glanced up at the soft sound of the door chime, and realized suddenly that he was hearing it for the second time. He drew in a breath and composed his features. “Come.”

The door opened; Deanna Troi stepped inside. Her movements were tentative, restrained; her black eyes somber, though she smiled faintly in greeting. She knew, of course; Picard had no doubt. Not details, but she knew. Nevertheless, he played the game.

“Counselor.” He tried, but was not quite able to return Troi’s smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually…” She tilted her head to one side, dark hair sweeping over one shoulder. “I’m here to see if there’s anything I can do for you. You’ve seemed a little…” She paused, searching for the most tactful word. “… distracted lately.”

“Oh,” Picard said, feigning casualness. He could not bring himself to simply blurt it out; it would have seemed somehow disrespectful to Robert and Ren. “Just… family matters.” For a moment, he struggled with the impulse to ask her to leave, to insist on privacy. But she was right; he could not keep his grief to himself forever. At some point, he would have to admit to others what had happened. He glanced down at the holo album. “You’ve never met my brother and his wife, have you?”

“No.” Troi moved over beside him to peer over his shoulder at the album. She kept a respectful distance, still careful not to push, not to intrude before Picard was ready.

He continued, unable to keep the irony and affection from his voice as he stared down at the image of his brother. “Robert can be quite impossible …. Pompous, arrogant, always has to have the last word. But he’s mellowed somewhat in his later years.” He hesitated, realizing that he was speaking as though Robert were still alive; yet he could not bring himself to stop. “I was planning to spend some time on Earth next month. I thought we could all go to San Francisco. Ren6’s always wanted to see Starfleet Academy.”

Troi leaned forward to get a closer look. “Ren6? Your nephew?”

Picard nodded, knowing she could sense the bright glimmer of pain the image of the boy provoked; yet despite his grief, he could not help smiling fondly at the sight of the boy’s face. “Yes. He’s so… unlike his father. Imaginative, a dreamer. He almost reminds me of myself at that age.”

He laughed softly, but there was no joy in the sound.