“He did—and does—have a choice about loving you, Thavanichent,” Charivretha said. “And about loving Vindizhei and Shathrissía. And he does love all of you.”

“I know he does,” Anichent said. “I know.”

“And with love comes certain obligations,” Charivretha told him. “And that’s true whether you’re an Andorian or a Klingon or a Tholian.”

“Obligations, yes,” Anichent said. “But I’m not sure love—real love—makes demands.An obligation is something Shar should want to fulfill, but our demands…the demands of our society…I think maybe we’ve been asking too much of Shar.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Charivretha said. She pushed her chair back and stood up, unable to remain still. “Nothing has been asked of Shar that hasn’t been asked of generations before him.”

“Then maybe we’ve been asking too much of all of us,” Anichent suggested.

“It doesn’t matter,” Thriss said suddenly. All eyes turned toward her. She still sat with her head down. “Nothing will matter if Shar doesn’t come back from his mission.”

“Thriss, don’t,” Dizhei said, obviously saddened by her bondmate’s despondency.

Anichent reached over and tenderly put his hand on Thriss’s forearm. “He willbe back,” he insisted.

Thriss slowly withdrew her arm from Anichent’s touch. She stood from her chair. “Excuse me,” she said, and Charivretha thought she saw tears in the young woman’s eyes. Thriss walked from the dining area and across the room, disappearing into the bedroom.

Dizhei looked over at Anichent. “I’m going to go to her,” she told him. He nodded, and she followed Thriss through the bedroom door.

Charivretha and Anichent regarded each other across the table. “I’m not sure what any of us are going to do if Shar doesn’t come back to Andor this time,” he said quietly.

“He’ll come back,” Charivretha said, as though stating a fact. “I’ve got to get to the reception. Thank you for the ale.” Anichent nodded, and Charivretha rose and headed for the door. She expected that he might say something more to her, but then she had entered the corridor and the door had closed behind her.

As she strode toward the turbolift, she realized that, if Thirishar did not come back to Andor this time, then she had no idea what she would do either.

51

Vaughn watched his daughter die, and in that terrible instant, he relived the moment of their separation, felt the weight of the years since, and regretted everything.

Prynn’s body landed in a heap beside the captain’s chair. The air grew heavy with the awful smell of her burned flesh. Vaughn stood in front of the chair and looked down at her, his heart aching. He studied Prynn’s inert face, her slack features a harsh contradiction to the horrific injuries she had suffered.

Vaughn felt the need to move away from his daughter, and to reach the console she had just been operating. He wanted to suppress his emotions and focus on keeping Defiantintact and headed away from its attackers. Prynn was dead, but the rest of the crew were not.

Except that there was no flight control console, no Defiant.There were no crew, and no attackers. And so Vaughn crouched down next to Prynn. He reached out to touch her, but stopped as a memory drifted through his mind. He turned his hand up, and was actually relieved when he saw that his palm had not been scorched.

There’s no conn for me to burn my hand on,he thought, but the notion floated through his consciousness like vapor, there one moment, dissipated the next. He stretched his arm out toward Prynn again. His fingers alit on her shoulder, pressing lightly. The texture of her uniform, the resistance of the unmoving body beneath, all seemed real—though he knew none of it could be.

Vaughn reached down and dipped two fingers into the pooled fluid atop Prynn’s mangled midsection. He brought his fingers up to his face, and saw that they were red with blood. His daughter’s blood. The realization slammed into him with incredible emotional force. Anger, heartbreak, and guilt filled him.

Why are you doing this?he asked himself. Why are you reliving this?He believed that this could not be real. He had not traveled back six weeks to this moment, nor had the moment traveled forward to him. But no matter the explanation, he had no time for this; he had a mission to accomplish.

Vaughn stood up and peered down at his daughter. Peered pasther. Beneath Prynn’s body, the decking appeared as it should, covered with a light gray carpet. But just beyond her, the carpet faded away, blending along an irregular border into the surface of the road. Vaughn looked up and saw this dead and deadly planet stretching away from him in all directions. And yet he also stood on one small section of Defiant’s bridge, around the captain’s chair. And though he knew that Prynn would not die—had not died—and though he knew that this could not be real, his heart still grieved for the loss of his daughter. Grieved as it had when this had actually happened. He felt the familiar rage and anguish, the enormous guilt, and he wondered how this could have happened again.

It’s not happening again,he forced himself to think. Prynn was not dying—not almost dying—again. Ruriko was not dying again.

Vaughn pushed himself back into the moment, back onto the empty planet from which waves of destruction had been launched at the Vahni. He looked out at the vacant landscape, and with an effort, walked from the fragment of Defiant’s bridge and back onto the road. He examined his fingertips again, and saw them still wet and red with blood. He turned, expecting—not expecting; hoping—that the scene had vanished. But the incomplete center section of Defiant’s bridge sat incongruously in the middle of the road.

His mind reeled, vainly attempting to make sense of what he saw. Of what he knew. Of what he felt. For real or not, explicable or not, his emotions were genuine, more than mere echoes of what had come before. Profound sadness held him in its grip. Prynn had not died, and yet he felt as he had in that moment when he had believed that she had been killed.

Vaughn seemed trapped, encaged by his own sorrow. He had lost any sense of time, he realized, and conscious thoughts not born of his feelings had become difficult to manage. Everything had slowed down around him, as though this instant when he had thought Prynn dead would never end.

Is that what this is?he forced himself to think. An effort to slow him down, to prevent him from reaching the pulse and trying to shut it down? And if so, would not a phaser blast, or even a well-thrown stone, have sufficed?

Vaughn wanted to turn from the scene of Prynn’s near-death, but found that he could not tear his gaze away. He stood there for long moments, struggling. Finally, he allowed the kilometers that had passed beneath his boots to take over. Tired from the physical efforts of the last day and a half, Vaughn let his eyelids close. The heartache remained, but with Prynn’s still figure no longer visible, he found enough will to employ an old mantra and try to rein in his emotions: You have a mission.

Vaughn turned, then opened his eyes. The empty road extended away from him, and he started walking again.

The sky reached down. Vaughn watched as, maybe two kilometers ahead, the clouds swirled above and funneled down to the road like a tornado. He pulled out his tricorder, although he was no more certain of the device than he was of his own senses anymore. He attempted a scan, but the interference from the energy made it impossible.