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  It was also dead.

  Is that why he had expended so much time on his battle with the stump? Had his mind made it the symbol of his own battle to remain on Chal, accepting his new role as a man of quiet contemplation?

  "Will you come with me?" he asked.

  "Do you understand a single word I've said?"

  Kirk smiled at her, tried a different, more playful tact. "Are you certain you can get along without me?"

  Teilani gave a tug to the drawstring of his tunic, pulling it open, letting the breeze flutter over his chest, to be followed by her hand.

  "I have a plan," she said.

  "Do you?" Kirk asked as her other hand found her own drawstring, and opened that as well.

  "You might be leaving Chal," she whispered as she drew near, "but you will always be here with me."

  Kirk felt his breathing falter as she kissed his neck and her nails glided under his tunic, across his back. Then he glanced around, suddenly aware they were in the middle of the field.

  Iowa Dream unconcernedly munched on some tufts of string grass, ignoring what his human companions were up to. But still, there might be other watchers.

  "What about Memlon?" Kirk asked.

  "He'll be halfway home," Teilani breathed into his ear as she tugged at the rest of his clothes. Then she straightened up, looked Kirk in his eyes. "What do you think of him?"

  Kirk was surprised by the question. It wasn't what he was thinking about now. "He needs someone to explain things to him."

  "You'd be good at that," Teilani said.

  Kirk had no idea what she meant. And for the moment, he had no interest in pursuing the matter.

  He cradled her head in his hands, kissed her head ridges, the points of her ears, inhaled the fragrant scent of her sunwarmed hair.

  "I like this plan of yours," he said.

  "I thought you'd approve."

  "But maybe, with my back, this isn't the right time."

  She smiled at him, eyes half open, breath shallow, lips parted. "Leave that to me." Then she smiled at him wickedly. "As someone once said, resistance is futile."

  Kirk laughed. Beneath the suns of Chal, their shadows joined to become one. And he found peace in those timeless moments, a shield against the activity he must undertake in the next few days.

  Because he knew Teilani was right. He needed to venture out into the universe again. Even though his secret fear was that there were no more challenges out there for him to face.

  What need could the universe possibly have for a hero whose time had passed?

  TWO

  Like a caged predator, Jean-Luc Picard paced the bridge of the Enterprise, ignoring the sporadic vibrations that shook it. Ten years ago, he might have accepted an assignment like this. But today, he could only see it as a waste. Of his ship, of his crew, and of his time.

  And right now, to Picard, there was no commodity more precious.

  As Picard strode along the raised deck encircling the bridge, another shudder passed through the Enterprise. The subspace pressure waves that pummeled the ship were not dangerous, merely annoying. Picard could ignore them, though he worried that they might be putting his crew on edge despite the monotony of their current duty. As the ship's artificial gravity field and inertial dampers compensated for the buffeting, Picard paused behind the sole member of his crew who did not appear to take umbrage at having the captain read over his shoulder. But this time even Data turned back to him from his science station.

  "Captain, your observation of my sensor readings will not cause them to proceed more rapidly."

  Picard nodded. When even an android reacted to his impatience, he knew he had gone too far. "You're right, Data. A watched pot never boils."

  Data observed the captain carefully. "Sir, at Commander Riker's suggestion, I once undertook a detailed analysis of that assumption. My research showed that at normal atmospheric pressure of seven hundred and sixty torr and in the presence of a heat source capable of delivering a temperature of one hundred Celsius degrees to an arbitrary mass of water, a watched pot always boils. At the macroscopic scale, the quantum-observer effect is trivial." Data paused, as if remembering something else from his detailed analysis. "Of course, if there is a defect in the observer's timing mechanism, from personal experience I can relate that subjective observations do appear to outweigh the empirical and—"

  Picard knew when he had been told off. "Carry on, Mr. Data."

  Data turned back to his sensor controls.

  As Picard stepped away from Data's station, he caught Riker grinning at him. His executive officer was working at a secondary science station on the other side of the bridge. Picard walked toward him, tapping a clenched fist against the side of his leg.

  "Don't tell me you're enjoying this duty," he said.

  Riker's smile broadened. "I wasn't aware I had a choice, sir."

  Picard didn't understand what was wrong with everyone. "Will, this is the flagship of the Fleet. The most sophisticated piece of machinery ever built by humanity. She's designed for . . . for exploration, blazing new ground, taking action."

  "I think you're describing her captain."

  But Picard was not to be swayed. He looked at the virtual main screen, where the Goldin Discontinuity was displayed in all its writhing, multicolored glory. Flashes of antiproton energy, appearing to be little more than lightning strikes despite their solar-system-size scale, flickered among the billowing plasma storms.

  "This region of space is no different from a dozen others," Picard said. "Two science vessels could cover it more efficiently than even this ship. And they're built for it. This duty is what their crews train for."

  Riker stood up and stretched, still watching the stream of data that played across his station's displays. "Sir, if this were just a science mission, you'd be right. But what if we find what we don't want to find?"

  Picard had had this argument before. Specifically, with Fleet Admiral Alynna Nechayev at Starbase 310. With remarkable stubbornness, even for her, the admiral had insisted that the Enterprise be assigned to the Goldin Discontinuity. Picard had fought against that decision. And he had lost. He had no desire to suffer the same fate at the hands of his Number One. But he couldn't help himself.

  "There're no Cardassians out there, Will."

  "With the way the plasma storms disrupt our sensors, there could be an entire fleet riding our wake and we'd never know it."

  "We're too deep within Federation territory. The Cardassians could never make the crossing undetected."

  Riker didn't offer any more protestations, but Picard already knew how the rest of the argument would play out. Since the main hostilities of the war with the Dominion had appeared to be in momentary abeyance, some factions within the Cardassian ruling elite had become obsessed with finding a new wormhole passage to the Gamma Quadrant. During the war, Cardassia even had attempted to build an artificial wormhole, deep in Cardassian space.

  Even if that attempt had been successful—and Picard and his crew had ensured that it was not—it would still have offered only a sporadic, partial connection to the Gamma Quadrant. All evidence supported the conclusion that only stable wormholes were useful for sustained transport, yet no theory had yet been accepted as to why the Bajoran wormhole should exist at all.

  Certainly, the fact that intelligent beings dwelt within it—aliens or prophets depending on one's philosophical leanings—was considered a key factor in the wormhole's capabilities. But Starfleet scientists, charged with keeping current with Cardassian investigations, if not surpassing them, had recently begun to analyze the nature of space-time around the Bajoran system. As a result, several intriguing theories concerning the Badlands—a region of space near the Cardassian border, filled with plasma storms—had been developed.

  It might be possible, both Starfleet and Cardassian scientists had concluded, that the presence of a Badlands-type section of space was an indication that the local continuum could maintain a stable wormhole. Thus, thr
oughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, Starfleet was returning to previously mapped regions of plasma storms to see if more detailed study could reveal a connection between them and wormholes.

  On the frontier, several Starfleet vessels had already had run-ins with Cardassian ships, leaving no doubt that the Cardassians were pursuing the same line of research. A new technological race had begun.

  The Institute for Starfleet Strategic Initiatives had declared that the ability to create stable wormholes between any two points in space would be a development that could render the Cochrane drive—and, therefore, every warp vessel in Starfleet—obsolete.

  Thus the Enterprise had been assigned to remap the Goldin Discontinuity, a task a dozen other vessels might have handled.

  But only the Enterprise, Admiral Nechayev had argued in her most persuasive manner, could handle what might transpire if a Cardassian task force were discovered deep within Federation space.

  This is the same Starfleet that didn't want me to take part in the defense of Earth when the Borg attacked, Picard had thought bitterly at the time. But he had accepted his orders. As Riker had said, it was not as if he had had a choice.

  "Engineering to Captain Picard."

  Geordi La Forge's voice over the bridge speakers was a welcome distraction to Picard. He turned away from Riker. "Picard here."

  "Captain, the plasma storms are really eating into our shields. We could use another layover in normal space to recalibrate."

  Picard looked ahead to Lieutenant Karo, the new Bolian conn officer. "Mr. Karo, what is current shield strength?"

  "Eighty-four percent," the Bolian answered crisply.

  "We do not appear to be in any immediate danger," Picard replied to La Forge.

  "Not right now," the engineer answered. "But the way these storms work, we could experience a sudden drop to ten percent in less than a minute, with no warning."

  Picard hesitated. As much as he wanted to warp out of the Goldin Discontinuity, he knew that each minute spent leaving and reentering the region of plasma storms delayed the ultimate conclusion of the mission.

  Yet how could he put the Enterprise at risk for purely personal reasons?

  "Very well," Picard said without enthusiasm. "Mr. Karo, plot a course to the closest clear region of space from our position at the end of this sector sweep." Picard read the figures on Riker's secondary science display. "That will allow us to leave the area in . . . fifteen minutes, Mr. La Forge. Will that be suitable?"

  "Yes, sir. La Forge out."

  Picard turned back to Riker. "I've just added a day to this interminable mission."

  Riker's smile faded. "Sir, we've undertaken research like this a hundred times before. It's standard duty."

  That was the point Picard had been trying to make to anyone who would listen. "Exactly, Number One. But this is not a standard ship."

  Riker appeared to misunderstand. "What I mean to say is, have you considered taking a few days off? Head out on a holodeck adventure. Dixon Hill, a cross-country ride, anything. I can mind the store, sir."

  Picard didn't understand Riker's equanimity. "After all we've done, how can you stand this . . . inactivity?"

  Riker stepped closer, lowered his voice. "Jean-Luc, it goes with the job. We can't fight the Borg every day."

  Then what's the point? Picard wanted to say. If he wasn't out here accomplishing something worthwhile, something that demanded the best and the most of him and his crew, then what was the reason for being out here at all?

  Riker seemed to sense the sudden resentment-filled frustration that had risen in his commanding officer. "Captain . . . you've been living in your ready room for weeks. You need to get off the bridge."

  Picard's first impulse was to demand to know why Riker thought he could criticize his commanding officer. But he realized that knee-jerk reaction was born of something other than Riker's justifiable concern.

  "You're right, Will," Picard forced himself to say, though he couldn't believe it. "I do need a change in routine. A few hours and—"

  "A few days, sir. If anything happens, you're only as far as the turbolift."

  Because Picard did not want to accept Riker's suggestion, he did accept it. A captain was only as good as his crew, and if he couldn't trust their judgment, then what were they doing on his ship?

  "A day," Picard said in compromise.

  "A day," Riker agreed. He put his hand on the back of his duty chair, about to sit in it again once the captain had left.

  But Picard hesitated. He looked around the bridge, tugged on his uniform jacket.

  Riker gestured to the closer turbolift, urging his captain on. "If we find Cardassians, you'll be the first to know."

  Picard accepted that he couldn't put it off any longer. The bridge shook gently. It reminded him of being on the deck of an actual, seagoing vessel. Perhaps a holodeck cruise to the old South Pacific would be in order. "You have the bridge, Commander. I'll be in my quarters if you—"

  Then Data's voice, calm yet urgent, cut off all other conversation on the bridge.

  "Commander Riker—I have detected an antitachyon surge, bearing zero two eight, mark ten."

  The deck pitched in response to a powerful pressure wave. Riker moved past Picard as if the captain had already left the bridge, and took up position in the center chair. "Distance?" he called out.

  "There is so much subspace distortion, I cannot be certain," Data said. "But no farther than five hundred thousand kilometers."

  Picard steadied himself against a railing as the bridge bucked up again, fighting for equilibrium.

  Riker leaned forward, gripping the arms of the command chair. "Mr. Karo, adjust course to head for the source of the antitachyon surge, full impulse." He looked up to the bridge's curved ceiling. "Bridge to Engineering. Geordi, we're going to need stable shields for the next few minutes. If you see them weakening, go to auxiliary power."

  La Forge responded that he was standing by.

  Picard remained at the back of the bridge, watching in silent amazement as his executive officer polled the bridge crew, quickly giving them their tasks. He knew as well as Riker that an antitachyon surge could be an indication of a weakening in space-time, perhaps marking the initial appearance of a quantum fluctuation. And a large enough quantum fluctuation could give rise to a wormhole. It was exactly the phenomenon the Enterprise had been sent out here to find. To be superfluous on his own bridge, especially at a time like this, was more than he was willing to accept, even if he had already given Riker the conn.

  He kept one hand on the railing as he stepped down to the main level. "I'll take over, Commander."

  Picard was surprised by the flash in Riker's eyes, as if he had forgotten that his captain was present, or as if he resented giving up command. But without hesitation, Riker left the chair and took his position on the left.

  Picard settled into the center chair, trying to ignore the sudden sensation that the Enterprise herself was trying to throw him from it by her shudderings.

  "Readings, Mr. Data?"

  "New surges, Captain. Whatever is happening, is increasing in strength. We could be witnessing a wormhole opening."

  The shaking of the bridge was constant now. The background hum of the dampers and the structural-integrity field generators rose in a deep whine that hummed from the deck and the bulkheads.

  Riker leaned closer. "Shall I ready the probes, sir?"

  Picard nodded, eyes fixed on the screen. The closer they moved to the origin point of the antitachyon surges, the more scrambled the visual image ahead became. It was like looking through a flurry of visual static smeared by doubled images and ghostlike overlays.

  La Forge suddenly broke in over the speakers. "Captain—shields are dropping. Twenty percent in the past ten seconds."

  "We're so close," Picard murmured to himself. "How much longer do we have, Mr. La Forge?"

  "If this keeps up, no more than two minutes, sir. And when I switch to auxiliary power, we'll be down t
o thirty seconds."

  Picard glanced at Riker, wondering if the commander could appreciate the irony of the situation. Something had finally happened, and the Enterprise would not be able to stay in the area to witness it.

  "Mr. Karo," Picard called out, "Lay in an immediate course out of the Discontinuity. Prepare to engage on my mark."

  "Aye, sir," the Bolian answered.

  Then the main screen flared with an explosion of deep violet light and the Enterprise angled wildly, as if she had hit a brick wall in space.

  Picard didn't bother waiting for La Forge's report. "Mr. Karo, en—"

  And then, the bridge was still.

  On the screen, static and plasma clouds still writhed. But the Enterprise was as smooth and level as if she were warping through empty space.

  "Data?" Picard asked. In the shorthand he used with his crew, no more detailed question was needed.

  "The surges have stopped, sir. And . . . according to my readings . . . a wormhole might have opened."

  Picard was on his feet. He moved quickly to Data's station. "What do you mean, 'might'?"

  Data was clearly puzzled by the information on his screens. "Sensor distortion is so strong, many of these readings are suspect. But I am confident that some form of extradimensional rift did momentarily manifest."

  "Any sign of it now?" Picard asked. A mystery was almost as good as action. At least, it gave him and his crew something to do, instead of just being passive recorders of sensor readings.

  "No sign of . . ." Data stopped. Readjusted several sensitivity selectors.

  "What is it?" Picard asked.

  "It is . . . a . . . ship, sir." Data looked up at the captain, his emotion chip allowing his surprise to be clearly evident in his expression. "And I am receiving a standard Starfleet friend-or-foe automated transmission."

  Picard turned to the main screen. "There are no other Starfleet vessels assigned to this area," he said.

  Also on his feet, Riker peered up at the screen. Amid the wash of static and interference, an elongated sensor shadow was coming into view.