Worlds away, on the planet Earth in the area known as Alaska, Captain Jean-Luc Picard rose from the table at which he sat, and for a moment, gazed beyond the people gathered before him at his magnificent surroundings: the Denali mountain range, snow-capped against a blue sky. The open-air pavilion was heated to a comfortable temperature, but on occasion, Picard drew in a breath of cold, pristine oxygen tinged with evergreen.

The natural beauty only added to the poignancy of the moment: to gather himself, Picard concentrated on the discomfort generated by his white-dress jacket, the white tunic beneath fitted tightly at the neck, and kept his expression resolute, even stern.

"Duty," he intoned, to the officers at the bride and groom's table with him. To his right sat Beverly; to his left, Will Riker and Deanna Troi, flanked by Geordi, Data, and Worf. In front of the large, central table were dozens of smaller ones, occupied by other crewmates and friends. "A starship captain's life is filled with solemn duty. I have commanded men in battle. I have negotiated peace treaties between implacable enemies. I have represented the Federation in first contact with twenty-seven alien species. But none of this compares to my solemn duty as..." He paused for effect. "Best man."

From their center seats at the table, Will and Deanna laughed along with the rest of the guests -- all except Data, who watched the ritual with avid curiosity. Deanna's skin seemed to radiate the precise color of her gown -- iridescent pale rose, gleaming like a newfound pearl. Quite a bit of skin there was, too, with the low-cut, sleeveless bodice, but her legs were covered by the sweeping skirt. One shoulder bore a corsage of cabbage roses; a cascade of roses swirled about the skirt from waist to hem.

A pink pearl, Picard thought, amidst a sea of white and gray uniforms; all officers other than the captain wore gray tunics beneath their white dress jackets.

He continued to feign sternness, though his mood was a mixture of joy and melancholy. "Now, I know that on an occasion such as this it is expected that I be gracious and fulsome with praise on the wonders of this blessed union... But have you two considered what you're doing to me? Of course you're happy! But what about my needs?! This is all a damned inconvenience..." He continued despite the crowd's laughter. "While you're happily settling in on the Titan, I'll have to train my new first officer. You all know him. He's a steely sort of fellow who knows every word of every paragraph of every regulation by heart; a stern martinet who will never, ever, allow me to go on away missions."

He glanced at the golden-faced android, Data, who looked up at him with those peculiarly guileless eyes. "That is the regulation, sir," Data said earnestly. "Starfleet Code section twelve, paragraph four--"

"Data," Picard countered, in a more casual tone.

"Sir?"

"Shut up."

More laughter came from the crowd, especially Deanna, whose dark hair was swept up into a graceful chignon. Picard turned his sights on her and affected his best curmudgeonly tone.

"Then there's the matter of my new counselor," he said. "No doubt they'll assign me some soft-spoken, willowy thing who'll probe into my darkest psyche as she nods her head and coos sympathetically. Isn't that right, Deanna?"

The broad grin disappeared from Deanna's face; instead, she conjured a wide-eyed, strikingly concerned expression and cooed -- sympathetically, of course. Beverly, who had served as matron of honor, leaned toward her laughingly and clapped.

"I notice Doctor Crusher laughing along with the rest of you," Picard continued. "As most of you know, the doctor will also soon be leaving the Enterprise, to assume command of Starfleet Medical." He spread his hands in mock supplication. "Again, I'm forced to ask, Beverly, have you considered what you're doing to me? I'll probably get some old battle-axe of a doctor who'll tell me to eat my vegetables and put me on report if I don't show up for my physical on time."

"It'll serve you right," Beverly called back spiritedly.

Picard sighed and regarded Will and Deanna again. "Really, it's not too late to reconsider..." And when they both, grinning, shook their heads, he added, "No? Very well then." At last, he surrendered his sarcastic tone, raised his glass, and smiled affectionately at the two.

"Will Riker," he said. "You have been my trusted right arm for fifteen years, you have helped keep my course true and steady." He paused to gaze at the bride. "Deanna Troi, you have been my conscience and guide, you have helped me to recognize the best parts of myself." To both he said, "You are my family. And in proper maritime tradition, I wish you clear horizons... My friends, make it so."

Picard and the rest of those gathered upended their glasses.

A band had begun to play, and the guests to mingle; Picard began to make his way toward Riker and Crusher, but in midstride he paused once again to take in the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree sight of the Denali range, framed at its base by stands of tall evergreens. The mountains, white set against glistening white, formed a jagged horizon against the clear Earth-blue sky. They appeared permanent, eternal: but in spring, Picard knew, their collective face would change; great patches of white would give way to dark earth and dark greenery, giving a dappled light-and-shadow effect.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, his brother Robert had always said, but Picard saw no validity in the statement -- especially not on this day. Things were changing, quite radically in fact, and he failed to see how his life would ever be the same.

Beverly Crusher appeared before him -- much older than on the day they first met, something less of a mystery, but certainly no less beautiful, with her red-gold hair that seemed a reflection of her warm personality. His maudlin thought must have affected his expression, for she picked up on his feelings at once and teased, "Sort of like losing a son and gaining an empath, isn't it?"

Picard grimaced sourly at her. "You're being a big help."

She put a hand lightly on the crook of his elbow and said playfully into his ear, "If you start tearing up I promise to beam you out. Level one medical emergency."

He had to smile at that. As the two of them made their way through the crowd toward Will and Deanna, young Wesley Crusher -- surprisingly mature-looking in a Starfleet lieutenant's uniform -- crossed their path.

Wesley grinned broadly. "Mom!" Then, with a more formal air as he straightened his shoulders, added: "Captain."

"Hello, Wesley," Picard said easily. "It's good to see you back in uniform."

"Suits him, doesn't it?" Beverly said. She was suddenly incandescent with pride; Picard tried to imagine what it would have been like to raise a child, then finally see him one day grown and in uniform, and felt the stirrings of wistful jealousy. There were many paths he had chosen not to take in his life -- children included -- and Beverly's proximity served to remind him of other lost opportunities.

Nevertheless, he returned Wesley's grin. "Are you looking forward to serving on the Titan?"

Lieutenant Crusher's words tumbled out with the enthusiasm of youth. "Very much. I have the night duty shift in engineering, we have a double-refracting warp core matrix with twin inter-mix chambers that..." He stopped abruptly, his attention seized by the appearance of a young woman who waved in his direction. "Oh, excuse me. See you later, Mom."

At once he was off, in pursuit of the girl. Picard could only smile and gently shake his head at the fleeting attention span of youth; had he ever really been that young? Beverly's smile was a bit more rueful.

Once again, they headed for Troi and Riker.

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