Amanda's garden was still beautiful.

He stood there staring at it, surprised to discover that it was still maintained. As far as he knew, Spock had not lived in the house for some time. But the garden had been cared for... the spiky black blossoms were properly trimmed, the scarlet wax-leafed bushes pruned, the green waterstone paths raked, the rock arrangements stacked precisely....

He wandered down the paths, hands tucked into the sleeves of his long desert robe, his nostrils taking in the exotic scents of desert plants from a dozen worlds.

Leaving Amanda's garden, he began walking toward distant Vulcan's Forge, pleased by his effortless strides. Information filled his mind, neatly cataloged, and his conclusions were, once again -- it had been so long! -- faultlessly logical.

The desert surrounded him now as he walked tirelessly, his strong young body obeying his every wish. Youth is wasted on the young... he thought, remembering an ancient human saying. Well, for once humans were completely correct.

His mind was so clear, his thinking so precise. Emotion was, once more, suppressed. How agreeable to be able to think clearly, to be free of the constant, degrading assault of emotion!

For a moment it occurred to him to wonder where he was going, and why, but he resolutely suppressed that question. It was enough to be clearheaded and strong of body once more. It was enough to be traveling, going....

Going where?

Once again, he repressed that question, repressed it sternly. Where is not important. What is important is that I have regained my logic, my control. What is important is that I feel young again... strong again....

He looked up at the reddish sky, and beheld with wonder a wind-rider gliding along the thermals. Such a fragile, nearly translucent creature -- how could it survive Vulcan's hot winds?

But survive it did... and he was fortunate indeed to see it. He had been alive a very long time indeed, and had only seen a handful of wind-riders in all that time....

Alive...was he alive?

Such a question was not logical, and he repressed it, also. Enough to walk, to be clear of mind, controlled, strong and alert. Enough to--

"Captain. Captain Picard. Wake up."

His surroundings shimmered, faded. No! He was on Vulcan, he was in control, he was walking, going--

"Captain Picard. You directed that you wished to be awakened at oh-seven-hundred hours. Wake up, please."

The sleeper's eyes opened. Vulcan vanished. He blinked, dazed and confused. His surroundings were... unfamiliar. Softly gleaming walls; clean-lined, functional furnishings. Not Vulcan in style. Human. He recognized them. He had, after all, had two human wives.

Amanda? he thought, but then he remembered. Amanda was dead. Had been dead. Perrin. Perrin was his wife.

"Perrin?" he whispered.

His voice was completely unfamiliar. He blinked and sat up. What is happening? Apprehension stirred, but he repressed it sternly, as was proper.

Rising, he strode over to the washstand. The mirror above it reflected an image. A human male, middle-aged, bald, with handsome, aristocratic features. He recognized that face.

Jean-Luc Picard.

He blinked, and the image blinked back.

Suddenly the world shifted, tilted, and the last of the dream images fled. He gasped, swayed, and instinctively grabbed the washstand to steady himself. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the room steadied. Reality rushed back.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard stared at himself in the mirror. In my dream, I was Sarek. Young again, in control again, strong and logical.... Slowly, Picard ran water into the basin, then splashed it onto his face. The cool liquid felt refreshing against his skin. Reaching for a towel, he wiped his face.

I haven't dreamed that I was Sarek for months. Why now? It's so ironic that I should dream of our mind-meld now, because Sarek is, after all, dead. He died four days ago, at home on Vulcan. His memorial service is scheduled for tomorrow....

Picard walked over to a chair, lowered himself into it. His previous dreams about Sarek had been fuzzy, distorted, shadows left over from the mind-meld they had shared. Nothing akin to what he'd just experienced. That had been so clear, so real! He'd awakened actually believing himself to be Sarek. But the Vulcan Ambassador was dead. Bendii Syndrome had killed him, after a lingering last illness that had left Sarek stripped of all emotional control. A cruel disease, Bendii Syndrome. Picard couldn't imagine a worse fate for a Vulcan than losing all emotional control, having his feelings bared for anyone to witness.

Why now? Picard thought. Then the events of yesterday came rushing back, and he knew.

Yesterday, Picard had left Ambassador Spock behind on Romulus to continue his efforts to reunite the Romulan and Vulcan peoples. After Spock had told Picard of his decision to remain on Romulus, Picard had bade the Vulcan a reluctant farewell.

But, as a last gesture of goodwill, the captain had invited Spock to mind-meld with him. Spock and Sarek, the Vulcan had admitted, had never chosen to meld, so Picard made the offer so Spock could experience Sarek's mind through him.

As Spock had sensed Sarek's consciousness from the captain's mind, his Vulcan control had visibly faltered, and it was obvious Spock was finally allowing himself to grieve over the loss of his father.

Picard had been glad to be able to give the Vulcan that last chance at contact with Sarek....

The mind-meld with Ambassador Spock, Picard realized. It must have awakened the part of me that was linked to Sarek during our meld. That explains that vivid dream....

Picard glanced over at his replicator. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot, " he said. His voice was steady. It was only a dream, after all.

The captain sipped his tea while he dressed, and his mind drifted back to the last few minutes he had spent with Spock the day before. As they walked along the ancient Romulan passage from the meeting place, Spock had glanced over at Picard and said, "Thank you for bringing me the news of my father's death, Picard. I have thought about him a great deal over the past few days."

"As have I, " Picard had responded. "If we can return to Federation space in time, I intend to request that the Enterprise be sent to Vulcan. I would like to attend Sarek's memorial service."

"Yes, " Spock replied. "It would be only proper to have the flagship of the Federation in attendance. And her captain, of course."

Sarek's memorial service... thought the captain. I must contact the admiral.

After checking on the bridge and going through the usual morning status reports, Picard retired to his ready room and activated the communications relay.

Only a minute later, the captain found himself looking at the image of Admiral Brackett, the Starfleet officer who had sent him to find Ambassador Spock on Romulus and determine whether the Vulcan had -- as Starfleet feared -- defected.

Brackett blinked at the captain of the Enterprise in surprise. "Captain! This is pleasant, if unexpected. Do you have something to add to your report?"

Picard shook his head, feeling bemused, but then found himself speaking in his usual precise, assured tones. "Admiral, Ambassador Sarek's memorial service is tomorrow. I request that the Enterprise be permitted to represent Starfleet there."

Brackett hesitated, then said, "I have assigned the Potemkin, Captain."

Picard's lips tightened. "But, Admiral, if I may--"

Her rounded features beneath her short hair softened as the admiral interrupted. "Jean-Luc, I know you and Ambassador Sarek were... close. If you wish to attend, I will authorize the Enterprise to serve as a second honor guard vessel. Goodness knows, a man of Sarek's stature deserves to have the flagship of the fleet in attendance. Can you make it there in time? It will be tight."

Picard nodded, and a tremendous feeling of relief swept through him. He would be there, as he must be. He would be able to say a final farewell to the Vulcan he had shared minds with. Admiral Brackett was correct -- he and Sarek had been as close as it was possible for two sentient beings to be. They had, for the duration of the Legaran negotiations, become one mind, one consciousness.

"The Enterprise will be there, Admiral, " Picard said. "And I thank you."

She nodded. "Pity Ambassador Spock won't be in attendance. It's traditional, I understand, for the family members of the deceased to make a brief statement." Brackett regarded Picard across the parsecs. "I read your report, Captain. Talk about what you call 'cowboy diplomacy'! Tell me... do you think Spock has a snow-ball's chance in hell of fostering reunification between the Romulans and the Vulcans?"

Picard shook his head. "I don't know, Admiral. I do know that he is determined to try, and that there is no one better suited to the task."

She nodded. "Again, Captain, I commend you and your crew for the excellent work on uncovering that Romulan plot. If it hadn't been for the Enterprise, Vulcan might actually have been in danger of finding itself occupied by a Romulan invasion force."

"I believe that Sela and the Proconsul gravely underestimated the spirit of the Vulcan people, Admiral, " Picard said. "Being a pacifist is by no means the same thing as being weak. If that Romulan force had actually landed on Vulcan, they would have been dealt with... logically and efficiently."

Brackett smiled, her small eyes dancing. "I think you're right, Jean-Luc."

After Picard broke the connection, he walked onto the bridge, to find Commander Data at the helm. "Mr. Data, set course for Vulcan, " he said.

Data's fingers were a blur over the navigational controls. "Course laid in, Captain."

"Ahead warp factor seven, Mr. Data. Engage."

The Enterprise quivered fractionally; then the star-blurs surrounding them narrowed and elongated even more as the great starship flung herself into high warp.

As the merciless Vulcan sun hovered above the distant, rugged horizon, Captain Picard, Lieutenant Commander La Forge, and Commander Data materialized not far from the ancient steps that zigzagged up the peak known as Mount Seleya.

Midway up the mountain stood the temple and amphitheater where Sarek's memorial service would be held. Memorials were traditionally held at sunset, but a few early arrivals were already there, long Vulcan robes brushing the ground, their sandaled feet flashing from beneath their folds as they began the ascent.

Picard took a deep breath of the thin air, feeling the heat strike him like a blow. Even with forty Eridani no longer directly overhead, it was like standing before a roaring bonfire. The heat enveloped him like a lover, clinging to every centimeter of skin, and the thin air didn't help. Picard was grateful for the dose of tri-ox Beverly Crusher had administered to the two humans before permitting them to beam down.

The captain stood there, gazing around him, feeling an odd sense of having come home.

But he had only been on Vulcan a few times in his life, most recently just a week ago, when he had gone to visit Sarek during his last days. Picard had beamed down to the front steps of Sarek's home in ShiKahr, and gotten only a brief glimpse of the ambassador's home as Perrin had guided him to Sarek's stark, unadorned bedroom. It had distressed the captain greatly to see the ambassador reduced to a shivering, babbling shell of the man Picard had admired for years -- admired even before he'd ever met him.

Moved by an impulse he didn't stop to analyze, Picard turned away from the steps, and stared down at the plains below. There, in the middle of the flat land, lay the city of ShiKahr.

As Picard stood there, looking down on ShiKahr, memories not his own assailed him. He realized that he knew ShiKahr, knew it as well as he knew the family vineyards back on Earth in the French province of Lombardy. He could have been set down anywhere in the city below and unerringly made his way around, finding shops, public gathering places, the homes of Sarek's friends and colleagues. The captain of the Enterprise realized that he could have walked unerringly from one end of the city to the other.

A benefit of sharing Sarek's mind last year....

But that was a year ago, Picard thought. Why am I experiencing these memories now?

It wasn't just memories of places; there were memories of people he'd never known, too. When he'd first regarded Ambassador Spock's saturnine features a few days ago on Romulus, Picard had experienced a flicker of recognition and joy at seeing his best friend once more. There was just one catch -- at the time when they met on Romulus, Picard barely knew Ambassador Spock, except by reputation. He had met him only once, decades before, when he'd attended Spock's bonding ceremony -- as someone had explained it, "more than a betrothal, but somewhat less than a formal marriage, Lieutenant."

So why that instant of joyful recognition? That spark of emotion one feels for one's closest friend?

It had taken Picard some time to sort out, but finally he'd been able to identify those emotions. Apparently Sarek had also mind-melded with another captain of the Enterprise, some time before Captain James T. Kirk's tragic death back in 2293. Kirk had died a hero while saving the Enterprise- B from some kind of strange space anomaly. He was one of Starfleet and the Federation's greatest heroes. And he and Spock had been best friends.

Picard wondered why he wasn't experiencing anger at Sarek for leaving him with these grafted-on memories. After the Borg "possession" of his body and mind had transformed him into Locutus, he'd been so filled with rage, hatred, and anger that it had sickened him, and he'd considered leaving Starfleet. It had taken him a visit to Earth and Labarre, plus many sessions with Counselor Troi, before he'd been able to sleep without terrifying nightmares.

But the meld with Sarek, while it had left him with memories not his own, just wasn't the same. Even now, after experiencing the occasionally unsettling and inconvenient flashes from that other mind, Picard was still glad that he'd chosen to meld with Sarek.

Picard slowly turned away from his home (His home? No! Sarek's home! Spock's home! Not his!) and let himself take in the stark, terrifying beauty of the landscape before him.

Jagged stone thrust upward like spears. The lowering sun turned the naked rockfaces the color of human blood. Two peaks challenged the sky -- Mount Seleya was the taller of the two by far; a narrow stone bridge connected it to the slender spire that was Mount Trenaya. Even though Picard didn't speak Vulcan, he discovered that he knew the meanings of those names. "Seleya" meant "sacred mountain" and "Trenaya" meant "infant mountain."

Since time out of mind, Mount Seleya had housed the adepts of the Vulcan mental disciplines. Much of the mountain was honeycombed with chambers, corridors, and shrines cut from the living rock. It was here, in the Hall of Ancient Thought, that the katras of those who had passed on paused and took their final, incorporeal, leave-taking before departing for What Lay Ahead.

When a Vulcan lay dying, he or she would be brought here, and the adepts would help ease the transition of the katra from the body to the Hall of Ancient Thought.

Except in Spock's case, Picard thought. It was one of the strangest chapters in Ambassador Spock's extraordinary record that his empty but still-breathing shell had once been brought here by Captain Kirk and his friends, and his mind and spirit had been refused in an ancient ritual known as fal-tor-pan.

"Wow, " Geordi La Forge said. "This is my first time on Vulcan, Captain." He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform." Even hotter than I expected, but it's worth it. What an incredible view I'm seeing! The different heat signatures make everything shimmer in bands of color."

The chief engineer turned his VISORed head, studying the ever-increasing tide of people who were passing through the security checkpoint, then heading for the steps. "That's going to be quite a hike, Captain, especially in this thin air, " he added. "Too bad we have to walk up. If I'd known it was this steep, I'd have had O'Brien beam us to the summit."

Picard shook his head. "No, " he said, and his voice was harsh, unfamiliar to his own ears. "It is traditional to walk."

"Indeed, " Data said, "the ascension of Mount Seleya is analogous, in Vulcan spiritual tradition, to the journey made by the soul in many human cultures. The physical ascent is supposed to cleanse the body and spirit of worldly ties, much as the crossing of the River Jordan, the Styx, the sword-bridge to Raganarok, the--"

Picard turned to regard his android officer, his "now is not the time for a lecture" look in place. Data broke off and subsided.

"Time for us to start, " Picard said. "Starfleet has cautioned me that the Vulcans have refused to have heavy security, only this one checkpoint to verify that all attending are unarmed. So we must all remain alert for any problems. Sarek's memorial service has brought some of the highest officials in the Federation here to pay their last respects. Even the President of the Federation is scheduled to attend. She will be accompanied by security, but many other dignitaries -- especially Vulcan ones -- will not."

Picard glanced up at the peak. "Admiral Brackett informed me that even the Legarans have sent a delegation to honor the man who helped them negotiate formal ties to the Federation."

Geordi La Forge wiped his forehead again. "Well, the Legarans ought to like it here. It's fifty-one-point-six degrees at the moment, and they only need another hundred degrees to make their tank just to their liking."

Picard nodded. Nobody knew more about the Legarans' requirements for life support than La Forge. It had been the chief engineer's unenviable duty to prepare the tank of bubbling, varicolored slime for the Legarans during Sarek's last negotiation.

"Cheer up, Geordi, " Data said. "As is typical of desert environments, the temperature should decline rapidly after sunset."

"Yeah, by that time we'll be gone, " La Forge said. "Or I'll have melted into a puddle of goo myself."

"Let's go, " Picard said. Shoulder to shoulder, the three Starfleet officers walked forward, passed through the security scan, and began climbing the ancient steps.

The steps themselves were carved deeply into the rock, but generations upon generations of Vulcan feet had worn them, made them slightly uneven. Picard, who was on the outside of the steps, had to watch his footing, because there was no railing. He resisted the urge to look over the increasingly precipitous dropoff that yawned to his left.

Twice during the ascent the captain signaled a break so he and La Forge could catch their breath. Both officers were in excellent physical shape, but the heat and the thin air were taking a toll. Each time, they had to step aside to allow Vulcans to pass them. Even the oldest of the Vulcans climbed tirelessly and without pause. Picard was reminded forcibly of Vulcan superior strength.

Yes, indeed, he thought, recalling his conversation with Admiral Brackett, the Romulan invasion force would have had its hands full with these people....

He found himself wishing that Ambassador Spock had accompanied him back to Vulcan, even briefly, to attend the service, but he knew that the danger of crossing the Neutral Zone made that notion impossible. Still, it would have meant a lot to Sarek to have his son present today.

Thinking of Spock's stormy relationship with Sarek made Picard recall his own father, dead now many years. He and Maurice had never gotten along, either. Picard's father had strongly disapproved of Starfleet and all advanced technology. He'd wanted his son, Jean-Luc, to stay home in Labarre and tend the family vineyards. He'd been quite vocal in his displeasure when Jean-Luc had disobeyed him and entered Starfleet Academy.

Picard frowned as he pushed himself to keep climbing. Last year, he'd had a very strange vision when his artificial heart had failed, and he'd actually "died" for a few minutes, until Beverly had managed to resuscitate him. During his "death" he'd imagined that Q was there in the afterlife, tormenting him. Q had produced an image of Maurice Picard, and once again Jean-Luc had been forced to relive how he'd disappointed his father.

Even after all those years, remembering the day he'd told his father of his decision still had the power to make Jean-Luc Picard's jaw clench, his mouth tighten.

I am sorry I was a disappointment to you, he thought, remembering his father's craggy features, his accusing stare. But I made the right decision. Robert took over the vineyards, after all... and he resented it, all these years, he resented it. So would I have, if I had done as you wished, mon père....

Would it have done any good to explain, to try to talk to his father? Every time he'd tried to talk to Maurice after his admission to Starfleet Academy, there had just been another fight, and the gulf between them had widened still further. Should I have tried harder? Been more patient? Picard didn't know. And now... it is too late. Death is the most final argument of all.

Picard was wheezing for breath, and Geordi La Forge was in little better shape, when they finally mounted the last step. Picard stepped aside and stood there, trying to catch his breath. He was drenched in sweat.

"Here, Captain, Geordi, " Data said, unfastening a small case he wore on his belt. "Dr. Crusher gave me these in case they were needed." With two deft motions, the android pressed the injectors against the officers' arms.

Picard's breathing immediately eased. He smiled at Data and nodded. "Thank you, Commander. I needed that."

"Me, too, " Geordi said. "Thanks, Data."

Picard and La Forge, on Crusher's advice, had each carried a small flask of water, and they paused for a moment to drink some. Then, feeling somewhat more alert, Picard gazed at the vista before them.

They were at least a thousand meters higher than when they had begun. Mount Seleya's flank had been flattened, here, and paved. Behind them, buried in the bulk of the mountain, was the Hall of Ancient Thought and the quarters of the Vulcan mental adepts.

Before them lay the gathering ground for the crowd. The immediate family, Sarek's closest friends, and the highest-ranked dignitaries would cross that slender tongue of stone to stand in the most sacred spot of all, the amphitheater. Some buried part of Sarek's memories told Picard that the amphitheater was where Spock's re-fusion had taken place, seven, almost eight decades ago.

"Where should we stand, Captain?" Data asked.

"Well, we're not part of the family, " Picard said. He squinted into the setting sun. "How about over there, not far from the Legaran tank? We should be able to see the proceedings from there."

The three officers began making their way over toward the Legaran tank. Picard could see a faint shimmer above the tank and on each side, and realized that the Legarans' special environment must be protected by an energy field. Otherwise, the tank would give off so much heat that it would be like standing in an oven.

As Picard made his way through the crowd, he inadvertently brushed against one of the robed Vulcans. Knowing that Vulcans were touch-telepaths, the captain halted and turned to face the person he'd bumped. "My apologies--"

The tall young Vulcan facing him was staring at him intently, and then recognition dawned for both of them at the same time.

"Captain Picard."

"Sakkath!"

Last year, the Vulcan had accompanied Ambassador Sarek during his last mission to complete the negotiations with the Legarans. Sakkath had tried and failed to keep Sarek's uncontrolled emotions, a result of the Bendii Syndrome, in check. Violent altercations had begun erupting all over the Enterprise after crew members had been exposed to Sarek's inadvertent telepathic broadcasts of his raging emotions.

When a mind-meld had proved necessary to complete the negotiations, it had been Picard, with his experience in diplomacy, who had volunteered to share his mind with Sarek, to allow the Vulcan ambassador to "borrow" his own emotional control.

Now, a year later, Picard studied Sakkath, seeing that his features seemed drawn, thinner. Sakkath had aged far more than a year. "I'm glad to see you, Sakkath, " Picard said, nodding to La Forge and Data and motioning the Vulcan aside so they could speak in private. "How have you been?"

The Vulcan inclined his head gravely. "I am well, Captain, " he said. "I am... gratified that you could attend today."

"So am I, " Picard said. "It seemed fitting."

"Indeed, " Sakkath said. "Sarek spoke of you many times this past year, Captain, during his increasingly infrequent lucid moments. He was very grateful to you for helping him complete his final mission."

"You... cared... for Sarek during his final illness?" Picard said, marveling a little. He could only imagine how painful it would have been for a Vulcan to be constantly assaulted by Sarek's emotional storms.

"Perrin and I attended to him, " Sakkath said. "It was all I could do for him to make up for my inability to help him during the Legaran mission."

"You did your best, " Picard reminded him.

"But, Captain, it was you who mind-melded with him, not I, " Sakkath said. "I should have been strong enough to do that... and I was not. I failed him."

"Nonsense, " Picard said. "We discussed that at the time, and you would have been risking your health and sanity to undertake that meld. Humans are far more equipped to handle violent emotions than Vulcans."

"True, " Sakkath admitted. He regarded Picard intently, then did something no Vulcan had ever done before in the captain's experience -- he held out his hand, human-style. "I will always be grateful to you, nevertheless, Captain Picard."

Hesitantly, Jean-Luc held out his own hand, and felt the young Vulcan's hot flesh grasp his own. Vulcans had a higher body temperature than humans. Gravely, they shook hands, and, as they did so, a fleeting expression crossed the Vulcan's normally impassive features. An expression of... what? Recognition? Discovery? Picard couldn't be certain.

"Captain, " Sakkath said in soft tones that held a note of urgency, "You must come with me. Perrin will wish to see you."

Picard realized from the direction of Sakkath's gaze that he was proposing to lead him across the bridge, to the section reserved for family and close friends. "I don't want to intrude, " Picard said. "I can see her after the service."

"No, " Sakkath said, and there was no mistaking the tension in his voice. "You must come, Captain. It is necessary... that is, proper... that you be there."

"Well, I..." Picard hesitated. "Let me speak to my officers, " he said.

Sakkath nodded, and followed him back to where Geordi and Data were waiting, not far from the Legarans' tank. "I'm sure you both recall Sakkath, Sarek's aide, " Picard said, and the officers and the Vulcan exchanged greetings.

Picard explained that he was going to go and speak with Perrin, and would be back after the service. He turned away, ready to follow Sakkath, but he'd only gone a few steps when Geordi La Forge caught up to him. "Captain!"

Picard swung around. "What is it?"

"Sir... you warned us to keep an eye out for potential problems with security...." Geordi said softly, keeping his voice low. "I think we have one." The Chief Engineer nodded over at a Vulcan who stood not far from them, wearing the typical homespun Vulcan robe that so many of his people favored. "Does that man over there appear to you to be a typical Vulcan?"

"Yes, " Picard said. "Why?"

"Well, he's not, " La Forge said, still speaking in low tones. "His temperature is three degrees cooler than the lowest temperature for a normal Vulcan."

Picard frowned. "What does that mean? That he's ill?"

"I don't think so, sir, " La Forge said. "I think he's a Romulan. I've seen Romulans before, and his heat patterns match theirs exactly."

The captain knew how easily a Romulan could be altered to visually pass as a Vulcan. The two species shared a common genetic heritage, after all, and looked very similar. If Beverly Crusher could easily disguise Picard to pass as a Romulan, as she had done during the captain's latest mission, how much easier would it be to disguise a Romulan to appear as a Vulcan?

"In this crowd of Vulcans, he sticks out like a sore thumb in my VISOR, " La Forge added.