Part I – The Oracle
The senior officers of the Enterprise all looked at Captain Jean-Luc Picard. He clearly did not expect the response that he had received after he had diplomatically explained to the Assaunians that people of the Federation do not believe it is wise to learn about the future. The Emperor had chided Picard about his people's narrow understanding of time and space and had insisted that the Starfleet officers follow the tradition of all visitors to Assaunia by seeing the Oracle. The Assaunians were xenophobic and very mystical. For centuries, they would only speak with interplanetary travelers who had first had their futures shown to them by the Oracle. In this manner, the Assaunians believed, visitors to their world gained a perspective of themselves that allowed them to better understand the Assaunians.
The captain of the Enterprise was the first Starfleet officer to receive permission to come to Assaunia. The timing could not have been more fortuitous. At the same time that the Assaunians were interested in opening trade with the Federation to replace the lost resources of their drought-ravaged planet, Starfleet hoped to establish a presence in Assaunian space to monitor the activities of the Maquis operating in the adjacent sector.
In the brief moments he took to ponder his dilemma, Jean-Luc Picard reached a decision. The opportunity to learn more about this fascinating, old race of people—plus Starfleet's need to watch the Maquis—easily outweighed the risk to the future posed by giving his senior officers a preview. He trusted his officers' judgments completely; if anyone would be able to carry on without contaminating the future, they would. In the alternative, he knew that there was a procedure to erase memories and he could ask his Chief Medical Officer to perform the operation on all of them.
"Very well, Emperor Gink," Picard said calmly. "We will see the Oracle."
The Emperor, a short, elaborately dressed humanoid with crimson skin and a hairless, elongated head, grinned broadly. "Good, very good," s/he said. "Follow me."
Picard's confidence in his crew was such that he only had to turn and give them a quick, sweeping look to communicate to them how he expected them to treat the view of the future they would see. He then made eye contact with the servant who approached him, as was expected, and he followed him/her and the rest of the Emperor's entourage down a dimly lit hallway. Behind him, Commander William Riker and Lieutenant Worf vigilantly scanned all sides of the hallway, the former to note as much as he could of Assaunian architecture and culture and the latter to check for any latent dangers. Lt. Commander Data, Dr. Beverly Crusher, Counselor Deanna Troi and Lt. Commander Geordi Laforge followed.
Emperor Gink stopped before a tall, ornate red door. Data recognized the Assaunian metal of which the heavy door was made. Glancing around the area unobtrusively, Worf did not detect any security risks. Troi sensed nothing from the Emperor and his/her servants but candor and an honest desire to get along with the representatives of the Federation.
"Now," Emperor Gink said, "you will enter alone, for the words of the Oracle are for you and must fall on your ears alone. I will be here to meet you when you are finished. The Oracle will let you know and open this door again for you."
S/he smiled again and stepped aside, as did the other Assaunians. One servant opened the door.
The Enterprise crew had been briefed on the Oracle, but nothing they had read prepared them for the sight that greeted them when the door was opened. The room appeared to be enormous, with bright pink light everywhere. Picard led them slowly through the doorway and they felt a gentle wind grow in intensity. Squinting to see anything, Picard felt a momentary alarm as he remembered the words of his Security Chief.
"Captain," Worf had said during their briefing, "although other visitors to Assaunia report that the Oracle is harmless, we still do not know what exactly the Oracle is."
It was true. No offworlder knew if the Oracle was a living being or a machine, a hologram or a figment of a collective imagination. For all we know, Picard thought, the Oracle could be a well-disguised carnival fortune teller. So far, the brightness of the light and the strength of the wind surpassed the data of their best descriptions.
Worf realized that the door had closed and he gestured to Riker to point this out. Crusher wished that Data and she had brought their tricorders with them, though she understood the captain's warning that to do so would have offended the Assaunians. Troi tried to sense a presence in the room with them, but could not. Only Laforge did not feel blind.
"Captain," he shouted over the wind, "I'm seeing a lot of energy and some kind of waves. . . . ."
"Explain," Picard answered.
"No explanation is necessary," a friendly voice, neither male nor female, said.
The Starfleet officers looked around but did not see any humanoid figure.
"No, you won't be able to look at me," the Oracle said. "But you will hear my words and you will see your future."
This unsettled them.
"Do not be alarmed."
They tried to relax during the windy silence that followed.
"I only needed some time to learn all about you. Now that I know you, I can show you what your future holds."
The blinding light gradually dimmed and in front of them, they saw, as if it were projected on an enormous viewscreen that wrapped around the room, the interior of a dark, stone structure. The place contained a dark, wooden desk and a large bed and included two rectangular windows through which could be seen a view of a green-gray sky.
Seated at the desk, was a man, large and dark like his furnishings, with his head in his hands.
It was Worf.
They heard a knock.
"Come in," Worf said, lifting his head up.
A young Klingon male dressed in traditional attire but without armor, timidly walked in. "Chancellor, sir?"
"Yes, Mal, what is it?" Worf answered in a half-growl, as though he were not particularly angry with the man, but not inclined to speak kindly toward him either.
"Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we have been contacted by the Titan. Your guests will be arriving shortly."
"Are their rooms prepared?"
"Yes, sir, everything is ready."
Worf looked away. "I will be down . . . shortly."
"Very well, Chancellor." The man bowed and exited, leaving Worf to reflect.
The second person did not bother to knock. The Enterprise crew saw the door to the bedroom open. A tall teenaged girl, who appeared to be half Klingon, based on the fewer number of ridges on her forehead, walked in undetected by the distracted occupant. Halfway to the desk, she cleared her throat.
"Father?"
Worf turned toward her quickly.
"Lash'a! I did not hear you come in."
Lash'a smiled and closed the distance between them. "Then either you are getting old and hard of hearing, Father, or I have mastered the skill of stealth."
To his right, Riker felt Worf grunt at the thought that a mere teenager could surprise him.
On the screen, the older Worf appeared indignant at his daughter's suggestion. "I was merely . . . thinking."
Lash'a stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, a gesture with which he did not appear entirely comfortable.
"Do you miss mama?" She softly asked.
Before they could realize what that question meant to them, Riker and Worf found themselves looking at Deanna Troi, who stood between the two of them. Worf and Troi were just beginning a relationship. In the alternative timeline Captain Picard had visited only a few months earlier, Troi's untimely death had driven a wedge between the two men who had cared for her the most. The captain had not mentioned that Troi and Worf had had a child. All the officers had hoped that Deanna's premature death would not occur now that the captain had altered the time line. They were saddened to see that it apparently had.
"It is only natural," Worf said to his daughter, "to miss her at times like these." He took a drink from an iron goblet on the desk. "And your mother was very close to Alexander. I would imagine that he misses her as well. Her death was difficult for all of us."
Lash'a bent over and leaned her head on Worf's shoulder, keeping her arms around him. "Do you miss K'eyhler, too? I know Alexander does."
The look on Worf's face grew even more distant and he needed to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak. "K'eyhler died with honor, defending the truth against a worthless patak'h!" He took another drink. "Yes, I do wish that she had lived to see her son's wedding day."
Lash'a tightened her hug around her father, then stood up. Her eyes teared and she turned to leave, not wanting him to see her cry. "Everything will be all right, Father. It's going to be a lovely wedding." She left before Worf could think of something to say to her. His distress was palpable to those watching.
Before he could say anything to Lash'a, the male Klingon returned and said nervously, "Sir? Your guests are here. They insisted on coming up."
Worf's face brightened into a smile of sorts. The Enterprise crew followed his eyes to the door and saw an older Riker and Troi, in civilian clothes.
"Worf!" They both said.
"Captain, Deanna!" Worf rose and quickly walked over to them. He hugged Troi warmly and kissed her cheek, displaying none of the unease he usually felt with demonstrations of affection. Troi looked very happy, her long black hair streaked with brown, but just as attractive. Her face had aged, but not really wrinkled.
"How are you, Worf?" Riker's smile and dancing blue eyes took in his old friend as he vigorously shook his hand.
"I am well, Captain. And you?"
Riker looked at Troi quickly. "We couldn't be better. I can't think of a better occasion to get together than a wedding."
Worf seemed to look past them. "Did the children come with you?"
Troi and Riker looked at each other and she began to giggle guiltily. "No, we left them with my mother on Betazed. I know you would have liked to have seen them, but we don't get many chances to go anywhere without them." She took Riker's arm.
Watching himself on the viewscreen, with salt and pepper hair and beard, and perhaps a few more pounds around the middle, Riker could not help but feel proud. He seemed to have everything that he could want—a captaincy, friendship, children and Deanna Troi. He looked at Troi again to try to gauge her feelings about their apparent future together. She remained focused on the events unfolding on the screen, her calm face hiding any emotions she may have been feeling.
"Worf, you must be so excited!" the Troi on the viewscreen gushed. "I'm sure Alexander is, too."
Worf bristled slightly. Troi obviously sensed his inner turmoil.
"What's wrong, Worf?" She asked. "Why are you upset about the wedding?"
Worf seemed to be internally debating whether he should answer.
Riker studied his friend, looked at Troi, then returned to Worf. "Is it because she's not Klingon?" He asked carefully.
"You're afraid he won't uphold the Klingon traditions that mean so much to you," Troi surmised.
Worf looked away. "He will be living in a human colony—" he said.
"You grew up on Earth," Riker interjected.
"—with a human wife and human friends," Worf finished.
"You had human adoptive parents and a human brother," Riker continued. "You went to Starfleet academy and were the only Klingon on a ship of one thousand people. Yet, you turned out okay, leader of the Klingon High Council, Chancellor."
Lt. Worf made an undecipherable sound of approval at the mention of his future title.
The Worf on the viewscreen looked momentarily flustered, then he gave voice to more concerns. "He will be . . . teaching history."
"Ah, is that it? Not exactly a warrior's battle, is it?" Riker asked.
Worf glowered in response, acknowledging his friend's understanding.
Beside him, Troi's sympathetic expression radiated understanding. "His new job bothers you," she said, "but there's more to it." She stopped speaking to allow him to admit the truth she was piecing together. When he did not, she continued. "You want Alexander to be more Klingon than you ever were. You're worried that your own lifestyle in the Federation has somehow corrupted your son. You want him to be more fully Klingon to validate your own 'Klingon-ness,' don't you?"
"That is not true!" Worf immediately protested.
The younger Worf watching this looked just as indignant at the suggestion, but he was also worried.
Troi sighed and took her good friend's arm. "Worf, trust Alexander. Trust yourself. I think you'll find that you have taught your son and he has learned some of the best values from both Klingon and Terran cultures. He will always be part Klingon and he will always be part human. And that's all right."
A confused Worf looked down at her comforting face. Beside her, Riker smiled encouragement. Standing before the viewscreen watching the scene, Troi smiled at the wisdom of her future self, for she could definitely imagine such a conflict seizing her friend over his son's mixed heritage. Lt. Worf, however, felt a mixture of bewilderment and anger, though he could not have said why.
Abruptly, the room darkened to black and the Enterprise officers could not see anything. Just as suddenly, the viewscreen lightened to reveal a large white room filled with computer consoles and displays. People dressed in black and gray uniforms with mustard-colored turtlenecks bustled about, mixing with others in regular clothing.
Laforge stared at the vaguely familiar scene until he recognized it. "That's the research and development building at the Utopia Planetia shipyards," he told the others.
As they watched, an older Geordi Laforge, with striking blue speckled eyes, wearing a uniform, strode purposefully into the room, data padd in hand.
"Sala, how's it going? Did you find the Romulan technical journals helpful?" He asked a petite Vulcan researcher. His posture, mannerisms and speech looked exactly as they did on the Enterprise.
"Yes, very. We have incorporated the changes that you requested into our computer simulations," she answered. "Although we were able to create an artificial singularity with the warp field generator coils, the resulting warp field layers proved highly unstable, placing the coils at risk of verterium cortenide degradation."
"Hmm," Laforge replied, looking at her computer console, yet beyond it at the same time. "Try modifying the power transfer conduits to compensate for the energy flow variant. There's got to be a way to protect the coils when the ship switches to the Romulan propulsion system." Straightening up, he nodded at what he saw on the monitor. "That's good," he said. "That's good progress. Keep it up and let me know when you're ready to run another simulation."
"We will. Thank you, sir." She returned to her work.
"Captain?" An ensign shyly approached Laforge. "Here is my report on the effects of theta band radiation on the new modulating shield design."
Laforge looked at him skeptically. "Already? Are you sure that's complete? I don't want you to rush to get me results you're not sure of. That wouldn't be of any use to either of us and you're not going to impress me by being the first one to get me the wrong answer."
Seeing himself mentor the younger man, Laforge smiled up at the screen. His friend Data looked at the two Laforges quizzically. Stealing a glance at his Chief Engineer, Picard thought that the future version of the man had become surer of himself in areas other than starship engines. The image of Laforge the Oracle was showing them seemed to be quite similar to the future Laforge that he had seen thanks to Q.
"Then, uh, sir? I'd like to take more time on this," the ensign sheepishly answered, looking up to Laforge timidly for his response.
Laforge smiled and patted his shoulder. "Go ahead, Hendrickson. I'll look forward to your report . . . when it's done."
As the man hurriedly departed, Laforge chuckled and turned to a nearby console. "Computer," he said, "was my message to the Klingon homeworld received?"
After a pause, the feminine voice answered, "Affirmative. Still awaiting response from Chancellor Worf."
"That's okay," Laforge said laughing. "Worf's got enough to worry about with the wedding."
"Please restate question."
Shaking his head, Laforge laughed on the viewscreen and the real Laforge almost joined him, happy to see himself so relaxed and content in the future.
Suddenly, a young woman burst into the room.
"Captain Laforge!" She ran up to him with fear furrowing her face. The overalls she wore did not give any indication as to her identity. Most of those watching assumed she was a researcher.
"Gemma! What is it?" Concern replaced the merriment that had looked so comfortable on Laforge's face. He gripped the woman by her arms. "Is it Leah?"
"Yes," Gemma panted. "Her contractions are three minutes apart and she's on her way to the clinic. She sent me here to get you."
Laforge dropped the data padd on a table. "Who's with the boys?"
"They're with their grandfather," Gemma answered. "Come on, you've got to hurry." She grabbed his hand and started pulling him to the exit. As the room darkened around the surprised group, Laforge's distinctive laughter could be heard.
After a second of darkness, the light resumed, showing the bridge of a starship that the Enterprise officers did not recognize. Except for one.
"The Pasteur," Picard said. Regret shone in his eyes and Troi felt his disappointment as he stood rigidly and stared at the screen, his emotion invisible. Sadly, he thought, this part of the future Q had shown him would apparently come true.
The turbolift doors at the rear of the bridge opened and Beverly Crusher stepped regally out, wearing the same black and gray uniform as Laforge, but with a red turtleneck. She looked much as Picard remembered her from the alternative timeline, he thought, though perhaps a bit thinner and with less gray hair.
Her first officer approached her. "Captain Picard, Governor Sefterine is in the observation lounge. He came aboard to personally thank you for our assistance in the hospital construction project."
Beverly shared a slightly sardonic smile with the younger woman then turned into the lounge. The Oracle's viewscreen followed her, revealing a room smaller than the main observation lounge on the Enterprise, but similarly accentuated. As she walked in, a tall, handsome man with long, dark hair rose from the table.
"Captain Picard," Gov. Sefterine said, taking the hand she offered in both of his, "I wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you have done for my people. The new medical facility will bring them a level of care that we never thought possible in our lifetimes."
"Governor, you're very welcome," she responded, retrieving her hand. "I'm glad we were able to help you build the political support you needed for the project." She moved away and sat at the head of the table. Sefterine followed her and sat next to her, staring at her intently, leaning toward her.
Beverly appeared not to notice his attention. She picked up a data padd, pressed a button to activate it, and held it out to show Sefterine. "Here are the rest of the specific plans for the hospital." She pressed another button. "Of course, you can modify any of the timetables, should you encounter any construction or other delays."
Sefterine kept turning from the padd to look at her. He slid partly off the chair to move himself closer to her.
"Captain," Sefterine said, taking Beverly's hand in his, "I would like you to join me this evening for dinner in my home."
Beverly looked at him directly, her eyebrows slightly raised and the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile that could be interpreted as flirtatious. Viewing the Oracle's presentation, Jean-Luc Picard recognized the look that his friend had when she was about to tease him and he felt jealous and pained seeing her give it to someone else in their post-divorce future.
"Just the two of us?" Beverly asked.
"Yes," Sefterine answered breathily, "just the two of us."
She withdrew her hand and straightened in her chair, still smiling. "I'm sorry, Governor, but I make it a policy to never dine with an attractive planetary ruler without my husband."
Husband. Both Jean-Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher started at that word.
Sefterine was undaunted. "The ambassador is quite, uh . . . elderly, is he not?" He placed a hand on her thigh and slowly started sliding it upward.
Her smile vanished and her hand clamped down on his to stop it. "The ambassador's age is a matter of public record." She lifted his hand above the table then stood up.
Sefterine stood and moved closer, his body only inches away from hers. "Don't you sometimes wish you could be with a younger, more virile man?"
Captain Beverly Picard breathed deeply without moving away from the man who had infuriated her. The Enterprise crew recognized the look of simmering anger on her face as she stared at Sefterine for a moment, crafting her response. Jean-Luc Picard thought of the debilitating illness that had weakened him in the future he had seen and wondered if Sefterine was referring to that condition. Next to Dr. Crusher, Riker, anticipating the explosion, arched an eyebrow and looked in her direction, but she could not look away from the viewscreen. Crusher wanted to see her future self tear this pompous man to shreds and she longed to hear something more about her relationship with Jean-Luc.
"Governor," Beverly said, looking him in the eye and speaking deliberately and slowly, "I happen to love my husband very, very much. We share a special bond that has withstood the tests of time, distance and tragedy. I could not possibly be less interested in you or in any other man. And, Governor, you would be extremely fortunate if you could be as spry and active as my husband when you are eighty-five years old."
When she turned to leave the room, each of the officers watching silently applauded. Jean-Luc Picard was heartened to hear her express such feeling for him. A few steps away from him, Beverly Crusher felt tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat.
Beverly Picard stopped in the doorway and spoke without looking back at Sefterine. "Governor, please return to the planet at your earliest convenience. My ship will be underway to Q'onos within the hour."
The next scene the Oracle presented was quarters aboard a starship. As the stars flew by, Data, wearing a gray and red Starfleet uniform and captain's pips, retrieved two drinks from a replicator. He brought one to his companion, seated in a reclined chair, Ambassador Jean-Luc Picard.
Data—as they all expected—had not aged a day. True to his wife's description, Picard did look healthy for a man his age. His closely cropped hair was completely gray-white and he sported a neatly trimmed goatee. His body looked as fit and lean as ever. Troi found herself smiling at how relaxed her commanding officer looked. He wore comfortable civilian clothing and his normally controlled countenance bore smile wrinkles and the hint of a smile itself.
"Jean-Luc," Data said. His unselfconscious use of his former captain's first name unnerved the Enterprise crew observing him. "Have you given any thought to what lies ahead?"
Picard sipped his wine and answered with a sly smile. "I take it you don't mean at Alexander's wedding?"
Missing the humor, Data corrected him. "No, sir. I was referring to the future. Do you plan to continue to work on Romulan-Vulcan unification after your recent setback?"
Picard's eyes darkened. "The setback was difficult," he admitted, "but it is not insurmountable." He looked up at his friend, smiling again. "However, to tell you the truth, Data, we've been considering retirement."
Data was taken by surprise. "Retirement? Both of you?"
Picard sipped the wine again. "Actually, we wouldn't be completely retired. I have a standing offer to return to Starfleet Academy. I think I might enjoy teaching a class here and there."
"And Beverly?"
"Well, she would have to find something to do. She's thought about private practice and she's looked into teaching at a medical school, perhaps, or even teaching drama."
Data's eyes widened at the last suggestion. "Really? Beverly would make an excellent drama coach." He sipped his wine then looked up almost furtively. "I did not know that she wished to leave the Pasteur."
Picard smiled patiently. "She doesn't wish to leave just yet. She's accomplished a great deal since she left Starfleet Medical. She wrote the book on command of the hospital ships. The Pasteur has significantly raised the quality of medical care in this part of the galaxy." He sighed, looking happily at his wine glass. "Beverly's work is done, but she doesn't realize it yet."
Data looked puzzled.
"I would say, some time within the next few years, she'll be ready." He chuckled a bit and smiled at his friend. "Don't worry, Data, we'll work it out somehow. We always do."
Watching his future self so comfortable in his marriage, Picard could only wonder what miracle would occur to bring Beverly Crusher and him to that magical point. Suddenly he was aware of Crusher, who had moved to stand next to him. As he took in her presence and her scent, she reached over and grasped his hand.
"Still, Jean-Luc," Data said, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair, "I wonder, how do you know when it is time to move on to a new project or goal in life?"
Picard thought for a while before answering, enjoying his wine. "Data," he finally said, "when I was young, all I wanted to do was explore the universe, fly through the stars. I had a burning curiosity that I thought was insatiable. And then one day, so many years later, I realized that it had been sated. I had traveled and seen and accomplished enough for one person. I decided to focus on a very different exploration in my role as a husband and a father . . ."
Crusher and Picard quickly looked at each other, then looked away.
" . . . and I found a great sense of fulfillment in my family. When the children were older and the ambassadorship presented itself, I relished the chance to try to bring peace and a better life to the many races I had encountered. At this point, I feel that I have achieved that—with one exception, of course—and I am ready for another change."
He sipped his wine and sighed. "I want the freedom to go on an archaeological dig whenever I please. I want to tend my vines at Labarre. I want to be able to visit the children, Wesley and his family. I want to attend concerts and plays. I want to spend time with Beverly.
"Maybe I feel the end of my life approaching. I don't know." He stared at the wine that he swirled around his glass. "I have come to know that I should always listen to the small voice inside my head that subtly reminds me that my greatest accomplishments and joys are related to the people I have been blessed to have in my life."
Captain Picard drew in a surprised breath upon hearing that pronouncement. He could not imagine himself expressing such a sentiment. Certainly, in his life thus far, he thought sadly, he had not learned the lesson upon which his older self set such store. He wondered what events would transpire to teach him that wisdom. Beside him, Crusher felt him tense. She nervously stole a glance at his face and wondered what he was thinking. Yet, as soon as she asked herself that question, she knew its plaintive answer.
Across the room, Data turned his head from the viewscreen to regard his companions, the words of his mentor processing through his positronic brain.
Picard, Data and the quarters abruptly disappeared to be replaced by a garden ringed by imposing stone walls. Modern Klingon music, unfamiliar o the Enterprise crew, could be heard nearby. Two large figures outfitted in ceremonial Klingon garb walked under a stone arch. Worf placed a hand on his son's arm to stop him.
"Alexander," he said, "I wish to tell you some things."
The younger man nodded.
Seeing his son as a grown man, Lt. Worf swelled proudly. In his Klingon wedding suit, he thought, Alexander looked like a warrior.
Worf looked up at the trees behind the stonewalls and the sky above them, then back to Alexander. "I want you to know that I have accepted your choice of career. At first I did not think that an academic position was . . . honorable."
Alexander stared at his father, surprised and speechless.
"But," Worf continued, "now I understand that this is your calling and these pursuits make you happy. I wish you . . . qapla'." The words were difficult for him to say and, watching his older doppelganger suffer, Lt. Worf commiserated, until the realization that his son was going to be a teacher distracted him.
Alexander's face softened. "Thank you, Father."
Worf again scanned the horizon and returned to his son. "I also accept your . . . mate." He needed to look away again. Alexander took the opportunity to steal a long look at his father. "Sophia is an honorable woman and the two of you seem to care deeply for one another. That is what is important, your feelings and your decision to spend your life together." Worf looked away, struggling to go on. "Your mother and I also cared for one another." Alexander frowned, confused. "But we chose different paths and we let other ambitions take us apart from each other. Do not make that mistake, son. I have had the misfortune to experience, twice, the suddenness with which death may strike."
Moving tentatively, Alexander stepped closer to his father, still a big man, and wrapped his arms around his chest. "I love you, father," he said quietly.
Worf slowly moved his arms until his hands came to rest uncertainly on Alexander's back. "I am proud of you, Alexander. I love you, too."
Lt. Worf felt uncomfortable watching this show of affection in public. He fervently hoped that none of his colleagues would look at him. Troi sensed his discomfort but felt an amused affection toward her friend. Worf and she were planning to get together later; Troi made a mental note to mention this scene, if she felt that he could talk about it.
The two men turned around and together walked back through the arch toward the reception. The viewscreen followed them to a large patio, decorated in Klingon and Terran custom, with a long table full of food on one side and a group of musicians perched on a stage at the far end. After the modern song ended, the musicians began to play a waltz. The younger people moved off the dance floor and one elegant couple soon dominated the center of the floor, a mostly bald man in an old-fashioned black tuxedo and a woman with long red hair in a cobalt blue tea-length gown.
Watching the wedding reception with interest, Crusher gasped at the image of the two of them. Hearing her, Picard smiled to himself and squeezed her hand.
Jean-Luc and Beverly Picard moved gracefully. Apparently too far away for the Oracle to record their voices, they nevertheless could be seen talking occasionally and smiling at one another with eyes full of love.
Two Starfleet officers in dress uniforms sat close together at a nearby table.
"You know," Captain Will Riker said to Deanna Troi, "the romantic in me never gets tired of seeing those two dance together." He snaked an arm along the back of her chair and grinned at her.
Deanna smiled back serenely. "It reminds me of their wedding day," she said dreamily.
"Mmm," he nodded, "an eventful day for two couples."
They shared a lengthy kiss.
In the Oracle's room, Troi, Riker and Worf squirmed.
The waltz over, the music changed to a more contemporary selection. Spotting a colleague with whom he wished to speak, Jean-Luc kissed Beverly's cheek and a smiling Data, in his dress uniform, took his place. Beverly and Data appeared to be at least semi-regular dance partners, for they swirled around the floor as though they had done so many times before. Beverly laughed in delight and Data tried to emulate the sound, with surprising success.
"Beverly," Data asked, "I was wondering if I could ask your advice on a personal matter?"
"Of course, Data."
"I have been thinking about leaving my command, but I am unsure what to do next."
"What options are you considering?"
"I have an offer to teach at Cambridge, which I find tempting. Leah has also asked me to join her at the Daystrom Institute. I have been thinking of expanding the 'dabbling' that I have done in positronic brain research over the years," Data answered.
Beverly did not need any time to think. "Why don't you try to combine both interests? Could you teach and do research on the side?" Her eyes lit up with a sudden idea. "Data! You could teach at the Vulcan Academy of Science and continue your research there as well! You would be fabulous! And you'd be close enough to Geordi and to us—well, once we return to Earth—that you could visit often."
Data was clearly impressed by his dance partner's idea. He tilted his head slightly, recalling the ambassador's words, and realized that the proposal would allow him to pursue areas of interest and to stay connected to people in his life. "Intriguing," he said sincerely.
The Data watching the Oracle's viewscreen echoed, "Intriguing," with no appreciation of the humor in his response.
The band began to play a fast-tempo, jazz tune and Beverly and Data took off at breakneck speed.
The music, however, discouraged Worf and Lash'a, who moved together off the dance floor, Lash'a's arm in her father's. A boisterous party of Klingon officials at a nearby table gestured to Worf to join them, but Lash'a stopped him.
"Father," she said with some difficulty. "I wanted to tell you that I made my decision about what to do after graduation."
Worf turned to face her, all thought of joining his comrades forgotten. "And?" He asked.
Lash'a took a deep breath. "I want to serve on a Klingon starship. I am a warrior. I have no interest in pursuing planetbound studies and no interest in serving on a Federation ship. If you insist, Father, I will apply to the exchange student program at Starfleet academy, but I am going to attend the Klingon academy."
She spoke with authority, as if daring her father, or anyone else, to challenge her future plans. What Worf did next surprised her as much as it did the group watching the future confrontation.
He threw his head back and roared a laugh. Lash'a's shoulders softened just as he grabbed them and pulled her into an embrace. "I am very proud of you, Lash'a. I love you."
Before Lt. Worf could decide how to respond to what he had just seen, his fellow officers and he saw Ambassador Picard walk on to the stage and take the microphone from the leader of the band, who had just finished the song.
"I apologize for the interruption," a beaming Jean-Luc said to the crowd, "but I have a brief announcement that may be of some interest to many of the guests here today. We just received word from Geordi Laforge: it's a girl!"
Cheers and celebratory music rose up as the light in the Oracle's room dimmed for the final time.