Data looked around the table that served as the communal eating place for the scientists. In every locale on the Enterprise that was designed for group consumption of food, Data had always been struck by the steady stream of chatter that had accompanied the act. Indeed, eating a meal seemed as much a social occasion as anything else. Such socializing did not appear to augment the replenishing of the body's stores of nutrition. It was, however, customary. Or so Data had been led to believe.

It was not the case here however. The six scientists who were grouped around the table ate quietly. Talk was at a minimum, and anything said was merely along the lines of some functional request such as "Pa.s.s the salt."

Seated next to Data was science officer Blair. Blair was tough to miss in any situation-a head taller than Data, and covered from head to toe with thick, brown fur. His jaw jutted out and his eyes were so small that they were almost impossible to spot. His Starfleet uniform was specially tailored to accommodate his height and bulk. The others at the table had to crowd a bit closer to each other in order to provide room for Blair.

Thus far there had only been one entr?e into conversation. Data had glanced around and said, "My records indicated there were seven of you."

Mary Mac pursed her lips and then sighed. "There were. Recent defection-Mar Loc. He took off the other day-haven't seen him since. You'll have to update your records. To be honest... we lose people all the time."

"Why?"

"It's not easy to take this place, Commodore," said Harry as he put food out on the table. Around the table, heads bobbed up and down in agreement. "You have the constant wind. You have the solitude. And with the Guardian out there..." He paused, trying to find the words. "You feel... you feel like you're staring into a mirror from h.e.l.l. And it's only so long before you see something staring back out at you. Some reflection that you don't necessarily like. At which point... it's time to get out. Or you can lose your mind."

"We've had that happen from time to time as well," said Mary Mac darkly. Again there were nods.

The scientists volunteered no further conversation, and once the food was put out, from then on the only sounds that could be heard were the clinking of eating utensils on plates, soft noises of mastication, and of course, the wind... the everpresent, everhaunting wind.

"Is it always this quiet?" Blair finally asked.

The sound of his hushed question was almost deafening in the relative stillness. The scientists stopped and looked at each other with an air of polite puzzlement.

Mary Mac, who was seated next to Blair, leaned forward on one arm. "It's not just quiet. We're working."

Blair looked at Data. "Working on what?" asked the commodore.

"Our thoughts," said Harry. "Our observations. Every night we record our conclusions in our logs, and every morning we group together and discuss them."

"As part of the Federation's annual evaluation of your work," said Data politely, "I'd be very interested in reading them. If, that is, you wouldn't consider that an intrusion."

The scientists looked at each other and there seemed to be an unspoken, uniform shrug. "No problem with that, Commodore," said Mary Mac.

"What sort of observations do you make?" Blair asked.

Mary Mac glanced around the table. Clearly, both through Federation designation and natural ability, she was the spokesperson for the group. "We make observations on society. On history. Most of us here are social scientists, Commodore... Lieutenant," she added, with a polite nod to Blair. "We make studies of the histories of different societies and from that draw conclusions about not only that society's past, but the circ.u.mstances that brought them to their present and, most likely, are aiming them toward their future."

Harry now spoke up. "Just an example. Two planets, Gamma Delta and Gamma Origii, had been at war off and on for hundreds of years. Even though they, as a society, had evolved in their perceptions and att.i.tudes, there was still a centuries-old tradition of hatred between the two. Our studies here at the Forever World uncovered the real origins, long forgotten, of the anger between the two worlds."

"That being?" prompted Blair.

Harry endeavored to keep a straight face as he said, "A d'clat belonging to the emperor of Gamma Delta consumed a markill that was much beloved by the empress of Gamma Origii.

Blair looked in confusion from Harry to Data. Data, with just the faintest hint of a smile, said. "A d'clat is a large, caninelike animal, known to be quite fierce and to reach lengths of three meters. A markill is small, somewhat feline, and usually very docile."

Understanding spread across Blair's face. "You mean the guy's dog ate her pet cat?"

"That is essentially correct."

"And that led to centuries of hostilities?"

"The incident led to bad feelings," corrected Mary Mac, sounding a bit pedantic. "The bad feelings led to the hostilities. By the time the modern era was reached, the reasons for the hostilities had long been forgotten; only the anger remained."

"How did the two planets react when they learned of the root cause for their antagonism?" asked Data.

Mary Mac could not hide her amus.e.m.e.nt. "The heads of the two worlds met and with great pomp and circ.u.mstance signed into law new, strict regulations about leashing d'clats. A newborn markill was then presented to the present leader of Gamma Origii. Frankly, they were all a bit embarra.s.sed about it and were happy for the opportunity to put it all behind them."

"Well, that's excellent," said Blair. "That's just excellent."

Then he paused, and Mary Mac picked up on the fact that something else was on his mind. "Yes, Lieutenant?" she asked.

"I was just wondering... are you ever tempted? To go back, I mean?"

"No," said Mary Mac with such speed and firmness that it was a bit startling.

"What, never?"

"No. Nor are any of us." She looked at her companions for confirmation, and almost as one, they nodded.

"Why wouldn't you want to?"

"Because that is not a responsibility that we would want. It's... it's too much. You'd have to be... I don't know... bigger than life to take on that challenge. I'll pa.s.s, thanks."

"If you shun the responsibility, why does anyone have access to the Guardian at all?" asked Data.

"We need access when we want to talk to it," said Mary Mac. "For some reason it won't address us if we speak from outside the force field. The Guardian doesn't acknowledge us unless there're no barriers between us. When we do converse with it directly, we do so with the utmost caution." She put down her eating utensil. "Your conversation was fairly interesting, Commodore. What did you make of it?"

"It would seem to confirm, on the face of it, that which we had always known. That time is fluid. Although"he paused only a moment, considering the possibilities-"there is another interpretation. And that is that all times coexist."

"You mean parallel universes," said Mary Mac. It was clear from the speed with which she picked up on what he was saying that it was something she'd already given thought.

"It's something that has been considered," said Data. "That parallel universes are, in fact, alternative time tracks. There was a fascinating paper done recently, expanding upon a notion expressed in, of all things, a newly recovered twentieth-century piece of fiction."

"The Niven Doctrine," Blair said. "I was in the audience when it was presented. Shook up quite a few people."

"Alternative time lines," said Mary Mac, nodding. "The scene you were watching, Commodore-the experiences of Captain Kirk-certainly is one of the better-known instances."

"There have been others doc.u.mented," said Data. "There was Captain Kirk's experience with an alternative time line that resulted in a parallel universe with an aggressive, warlike Federation. There was another situation that I myself was involved with, the full details of which I didn't learn until some years after the fact."

"You, Commodore?" asked Mary Mac. "What was it?"

"It involved a... memorable young woman. her name was Natasha Yar, although she was more popularly known as Tasha." Data's face, as always, was the picture of composure. But Blair, from his long experience with his commanding officer, could tell that the memory being pulled up was something of great meaning to the android. "it was a... unique situation. One of the few instances where an individual or individuals actually crossed over from one parallel universe to another-one being where Captain Kirk and several crewmen, as mentioned earlier, crossed into a parallel universe/time line with a militaristic Federation. Tasha's experience was another. Unfortunately it... did not work out quite as positively as Captain Kirk's did."

Data lapsed into silence and Mary Mac understood immediately that he had said everything he felt needed to be said on the subject. But Data picked up on her expression.

"if you wish to question me further on the incident," Data said quietly, "you may feel free to do so. I won't feel imposed upon."

"Maybe not, but I'll feel like I'm imposing anyway. So I guess I won't." Then Mary Mac paused. "Actually, Commodore... I have something of interest to show you. Something along the lines of our discussion. A very intriguing turn of events that our monitoring of the Guardian's playbacks has revealed. And I think"-her green lips drew back into a broad smile-"I think you will find it very interesting."

CHAPTER 4.

Riker sat in his guest quarters on the starship Hood, watching the stars hurtling by. It had been so long since he was in any sort of real motion that the view outside the port looked... wrong somehow. As insane as it sounded, he didn't feel as if stars were supposed to move.

"Do you miss it, Admiral"

He hadn't even heard the door hiss open. He turned to face Capt. Wesley Crusher.

Crusher was standing in the doorway, his arms folded. He was half a head taller than Riker, which was disconcerting enough for the admiral. He sported a Vand.y.k.e beard, and his hair-graying ever so slightly at the temples-hung just over his ears. He stepped fully into the quarters upon Riker's silent gesture for him to enter, and Riker noticed with amus.e.m.e.nt that as he did so, he tugged slightly at the waistline of his black and green uniforin jackel. Riker had not seen the gesture for quite a few years-the clothes straightening that had picked up the joking nickname of the Picard Maneuver, wryly named after the famous battle tactic that one Jean-Luc Picard had invented.

He saw Crusher standing and realized that it was in deference to himself. "Please, take a seat, Captain."

And Riker was even more amused when Crusher crossed to a chair and, without even thinking about it, reversed it and straddled it. "Pick up any other of my mannerisms, Captain?"

Crusher looked at him askance. "What do you mean, sir?" He looked down at the chair as if seeing it for the first time. "Did you used to sit like this?"

"Used to," said Riker. "Before some sore back muscles decided that they would say otherwise in the matter. In answer to your question of do I miss it, Captain... no."

"No?"

"You sound surprised, Captain Crusher."

Once upon a time, Wesley Crusher would have looked down nervously or stammered slightly or cleared his throat as he tried to compose himself. Just yesterday, it seemed to Riker. Now, though, the Starfleet captain merely shrugged slightly. "A little, I admit."

"You can take the man out of s.p.a.ce, but you can't take the s.p.a.cer out of the man, eh?" asked Riker.

"Something like that."

Riker slowly circled the quarters, never taking his gaze off Crusher. "You've carved quite a career for yourself, Mr. Crusher. Your father would have been proud."

"Thank you, sir."

"And what about you... Wes." It sounded odd to speak the name out loud. It was as if he were addressing someone who wasn't in the room. "Are you proud?"

"I've done my job. I've done it to the best of my abilities. And"-he paused only a moment-"I had the best teachers."

"The Academy has top people on their faculty."

"That's very true, but I wasn't talking about the Academy, sir... and I think you know that."

"We don't have to stand on formality, Wes. You can call me Will."

Crusher considered it for a moment, then said, "Actually... no. I'm not sure I can, sir. It would seem presumptuous, somehow."

"Whatever you're comfortable with, then," said Riker easily. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror. Old. So d.a.m.ned old, and he felt older in the presence of the robust captain who sat before him. Robust, even in his fifties.

"What's your opinion of me, Wes?"

Crusher blinked in surprise. "Of you?" For a moment he seemed confused. "I... admire you tremendously. You're one of the greatest... probably, with all due respect, the second-greatest... Starfleet officer it was ever my honor to serve under."

Riker stared at him with a look that bordered on incredulity. "You can't still think that, can you?"

"Of course."

With a slow shake of his head, Riker sat down opposite Crusher He did not, however, straddle the chair. "Wesley... everyone has people that they admire in their lives. People who they put on a... a heroic pedestal, as it were. But you can't possibly tell me I'm still up there on yours?"

Crusher shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't say 'pedestal,' Admiral. But I still admire you a great deal. In many ways... I still see you very much the way that I did when I first met you. Strong, decisive, heroic... everything a Starfleet officer was supposed to be. It's not unusual for first impressions to he lasting ones, Admiral... I mean, admit it"-now he smiled-"you find it just slightly difficult to seriously believe I'm an adult. Captain of a starship. Married twice, father of three. But you look at me and still think of the little kid on Farpoint who, once upon a time, only had two goals: to visit the bridge, and to have to shave more than once a week."

Riker laughed, the boisterousness of his amus.e.m.e.nt surprising even himself "You're right, Wes. You're bang-on right. It's just that..."

"Just that what, sir?"

"Just that," Riker said soberly, "there comes a time in everyone's life where they start to see their heroes for what they really are: namely, people. Flawed... ordinary... people."

Crusher didn't say anything at first. Something very unpleasant seemed to be hanging in the cabin... an air of self-pity, maybe even a whiff of mortality. "Are you feeling particularly flawed and ordinary today, Admiral?"

"Wes, I haven't felt anything but that for years now. Look at me, Wes. Look at me and tell me that you don't see a broken-down, second-rate starbase commander. Someone who had potential he never fulfilled. Someone who was never everything he should have been. Tell me that you don't look at me and see someone in whom you're bitterly disappointed."

Someone else would have said such things in tones bordering on histrionic. Riker, however, did not. He spoke slowly, succinctly, and in a voice that indicated he had, quite simply, already decided these things about himself and come to terms with them.

Crusher's eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, quiet fire was in his voice. "If that is your opinion of yourself... Will... then you're certainly ent.i.tled to it. But if you're looking for someone to confirm it for you, I'm afraid you're just going to have to keep on looking."

Riker let out a slow sigh, tinged with faint amus.e.m.e.nt. "is that your final word, Captain?"

"Yes, it is. And since we're on my ship, and it is my opinion... then we'll just have to make it so."

Crusher was about to say something else when suddenly he half-looked away, in that manner that had become so customary with the creation of the minicommunicators. "Excuse me, Admiral... Crusher here." He listened to the voice that only he could hear and then nodded once. "Excellent. We'll be right there. Crusher out." He turned to Riker. "We're five minutes out of Betazed."

"Smooth and uneventful trip, Captain. You're to be commended."

"Thank you, sir."

Crusher rose from his chair and headed for the door. But there he stopped and turned back to Riker. "Do you want me there, Admiral?"

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary, Captain."

"It's easily justifiable." Crusher took a step back into the cabin. "As a Starfleet captain, it would be eminently politic for me to be present. And as a... friend... I wouldn't mind being there to lend whatever support I could."

Riker was ready to dismiss the notion out of hand. But then he stopped and considered it-really considered it-and almost to his surprise, he found himself nodding. Feeling some words should accompany the nods. he said, "Very well, Captain Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea at that."

Crusher nodded. "Five minutes, then. Don't be late. Tardiness is mental slovenliness and is inappropriate for a Starfleet officer."

"Where'd you pick that up? The Academy?"

"No, sir. You told me that-the first time I was late for an astrophysics lesson with Geordi."