244 245

Data hurried over to her side, his eyes wide with hope.

Troi h~.~ ,,~ the tricotder so he could read it. “One life sign, very faint.”

He handed her his tricotder and dashed over to the source of the reading: a fallen bulkhead, which he pulled aside with preternatural strength. Beneath it lay metal fragments and the scattered contents of storage containers—shredded uniforms, boots, food, medical suppliesmall of which Data dug through with eager swiftness, until he arrived at a piece of plating.

He flung it aside to reveal Spot, wedged safely beneath the rubble. She gazed up at the android and released a throaty, plaintive yowl.

“Spot!” Data crouched down, scooped up the cat, and buried his face in her striped red fur; she immediately began purring, so loudly and enthusiastically that Troi released a soft, delighted laugh.

“I am very happy to find you, Spot,” Data murmured, cradling the animal against his chest.

“Another family reunited.” Troi could not repress a huge grin. She picked her way through the debris and stood beside the crouching android, bending down to give Spot a pat.

Data turned, revealing golden eyes ashinc with tears; Troi’s smile faded at once.

“Data,” she asked softly, surprised and touched at the sight, “are you all right?”

He gave a small, sheepish shrug, causing a single glistening drop to spill down his pale cheek. ‘,I am not sure, Counselor. I am happy to see Spot… and yet I am crying. The chip must be malfunctioning.”

246

Troi gently placed a hand on his arm. “No, Data. I ?~ think it’s working perfectly.” He looked up at her and smiled through his tears.

In the wreckage of the ready room, Picard bent low, sifting through the remnants of the past.

He had learued from Soran the foolishness of grasping at what was gone and could not be regained, at what was by its very nature impermanent. There were many belongings here that had been destroyed; things that he had valued, that he would miss. Yet they seemed now unimportant in the light of his experience in the nexus. And they were, after all, only things, even if some of them were unique and could not be replaced.

Only one of those things mattered to him now. He would accept its loss, if he must; but the rest he would let go willingly, even cheerfully, if this one could be retrieved ….

“Is this it?” Riker called.

Picard turned to gaze over at his second-in-command~ who stood in the midst of the overturned furniture and scattered personal effects, holding up a large dust-covered binder.

“Yes,” Picard said; the word served as a sigh of relief. “Yes, Number One. Thank you.”

He and Riker picked their way to each other. Picard took the album gratefully. The embossed cover had been torn, but it appeared otherwise unharmed; he brushed away the dust and opened it reverently to the last few photos of his grinning nephew.

Riker stood beside him, hands on hips, looking out at the devastation. “I’m going to miss this ship. She went before her time.”

247

Picard glanced up from the album, closed it carefully, and followed Riker’s gaze. “It’s not how many years you’ve lived, Will… but how you’ve lived them.” He paused. “Someone once told me that time is a predator that stalks us all our lives. But maybe time is also a companion … who goes with us on our journey, and remihds us to cherish the moments of our lives— because they will never come again. We are, after all, only mortal.”

For a time, Riker did not speak; and then the familiar impish glint came into his eyes. “Speak for yourself, sir. I kinda planned on living forever.”

The captain smiled at him as they stepped from the ready room onto the wrecked bridge. A shadow passed over Riker’s features as he looked at the captain’s chair.

“I always thought I’d have a crack at this chair one day.”

“You may still,” Picard said. “Somehow, I doubt this will be the last ship to carry the name Enterprise.” He hesitated a moment to give the bridge a final glance, to fix it forever in his memory, then touched his comm badge. “Picard to Farragut. Two to beam up.”

He straightened at the transporter’s gentle whine, and stood very still, watching, as the past dissolved.