Picard followed Keru, who knew his way quite well, no doubt from past visits. They eventually found themselves walking along a broad, pebbled walkway. As they moved forward, surrounding them from the sides and above was a trellis, entwined with brilliant blue and red vines and creepers. Multiple forms of flowering plants, their forms elongated by the light Martian gravity, peeked through in strategic places, purple and white and green splashes amongst the bright primary colors of the vines. The scent of growing things reminded Picard of his family’s vineyards in Labarre, France, which his late brother Robert had tended for so many years.

Passing the trellis, Keru and Picard continued on the walkway as it wended through a lush green lawn, similar to those the captain was used to seeing on Earth. Ahead of them was a multilevel house with transparent‑walled hothouses and attached arboretums. Picard saw more examples of lush plant life through the walls.

A stocky man with reddish, gray‑streaked hair emerged from the greenhouse to their left, carrying a three‑pronged digging device in one hand, and a well‑worn leather bag in the other. He puttered for a little bit, adjusting something in the bag, then noticed the two men standing there.

“Ranul!” he said, dropping his bag to the ground. He trotted over and heartily shook the Trill’s hand, then gathered him in for a hug. Breaking away, he turned to look at Picard.

“Rhyst, this is Captain Jean‑Luc Picard,” Keru said, gesturing toward his superior officer. “Captain Picard, this is Rhyst Hawk.”

Picard noticed that the elder man’s smile dimmed considerably, but the handshake was firm and polite. Rhyst had a strong grip, and Picard imagined him to be only a few years his senior. “Welcome to Mars, Captain Picard,” he said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I only wish I could visit under different circumstances.”

“Yes, well, uh, come on up to the house,” Rhyst said, looking distracted. “It can get a wee bit hot out here around the nurseries. I think we’ve got some cool juice of some sort to offer you.”

Picard and Keru followed Rhyst inside. The interior of the house was decorated eclectically, with knickknacks sharing wall space with shelves full of old books. While Rhyst went off to get the drinks, Picard perused one of the shelves. He was pleased to find volumes dating back to the 20th and 21st centuries–he saw works by Hesterman, TormИ, and Zabel. A leather‑bound copy of The Martian Chroniclesby Ray Bradbury–the colony’s namesake–was displayed proudly beside a dog‑eared biography of Lieutenant John Mark Kelly, the leader of an early ill‑fated Mars mission. It was rare to find books this old now; the few paper products to survive the Third World War had long since deteriorated, and today’s books were almost exclusively produced on padds.

“Here you are. Some fresh tangerine‑moova juice,” said Rhyst, appearing in the entryway and holding out two glasses of cool, pink liquid. A woman appeared in the doorway behind Rhyst, and–upon seeing Keru–let out a slight yelp and rushed to hug him.

Picard sipped the drink the older man had offered him, as Keru smoothed the hair of the woman who was now clutching him. Eventually, they broke away from each other, and Keru introduced Picard to Camille Hawk. She gestured toward the bookshelf.

“One of my weaknesses,” she said, her eyes moist. “Old books.”

“I was marveling at the collection,” Picard said. “I have a few ancient books of my own, but I doubt I could even fill one of your shelves.”

“Well, I’d always been told that you were quite the archaeologist,” she responded, smiling slightly. “Each to their own form of preserving the past, eh?”

“Yes,” he agreed, returning her smile.

Camille moved over to one bookshelf and opened a leather‑bound volume she found there. She held it out to Picard. He saw that it was a 1911 copy of Peter and Wendyby James M. Barrie, and remembered his own mother reading the story of Peter Pan to him when he was a child.

“This was one of Sean’s favorite books growing up,” Camille said. “Even before he read any of mybooks, he loved this one.”

“I think that’s where he got his love for pirate stories,” said Keru.

Rhyst gestured toward another room. “Why don’t we sit in the living room?”

They moved to the living room, which featured a Napoleonic decor. Camille made herself comfortable in an easy chair, while Picard and Rhyst sat on a low divan, and Keru in another nearby chair. Camille placed the old book on the coffee table, its pages open to an illustration of a lonely and wounded Peter Pan standing atop Marooner’s Rock in the rising water. Picard read the quote beneath it: “To Die will be an Awfully Big Adventure.”

I hope that’s true,he thought.

Picard set the bag he’d been carrying onto the plushly carpeted floor, near his feet. His eyebrows scrunched together slightly as he composed himself to speak. He knew that nothing could take the pain out of his first words.

“I’m very sorry about Sean.”

Rhyst put his drink down on the coffee table before him, and stared at Picard coolly. “Yes, well, we got a message to that effect from you, or from one of your assistants. Got one from Starfleet, too. And from Ranul, of course. It’s been a difficult few days. Sean’s brothers, Darey and Jason, are on their way back home to join us in a . . . celebration of Sean’s life.”

Camille leaned forward, looking at Picard. “Please don’t think us insensitive or uncaring, Captain, but we’ve raised our sons to believe that life is to be lived and savored. vored. It’s uncertain when or how any of us may be lost to this life–and we simply don’t knowwhat lies in the next–so we have tried to instill in our boys the importance of joy and love, adventure and passion.”

“You instilled those values well,” Picard said.

“We heard yesterday from the Yorktown’s Captain Kentrav,” Camille said. “He was Sean’s first commanding officer. We’ve been touched by how Starfleet has reached out to us.” She paused for a moment, looking at Keru, then Rhyst, then back at Picard. “Does this sort of . . . personal attention happen with everyfamily that loses a son or daughter in Starfleet?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Picard, sighing. “Resources and assignments do not always allow for it.”

“Then why are you here?” asked Rhyst.

Picard pulled up the bag from the floor and unfastened the opening. He retrieved several items from it, placing them on the table next to the book. “I wanted to bring you Sean’s personal effects. Sometimes it takes months for this type of material to be sent back to the families.”

Rhyst leaned forward, his eyes locking with Picard’s. “But you could have sent it with Ranul. Why are youhere?”

“I suppose I wanted to see where Sean had come from. What had shaped him before he entered Starfleet.”

“I was never as supportive as I could have been of his choice to join Starfleet,” said Rhyst. “I guess I always thought he did it just to escape the boredom of the Martian suburbs. All of the boys have had . . . wanderlust. But Sean was always a smart one– uncannilysmart. Maybe Starfleet was a good fit.”

“It was the bestfit for him. He was an excellent officer,” Picard said soberly.

“To tell you the truth, I’ve always resented Starfleet a bit. It’s always been so Earth‑driven. I’m a Martian, and I’ve always felt as though Earth treated Mars as if it was just a province. My ancestors fought and died to be free of the Earth consortium, but what have we become since the War of Martian Independence? A garage for Earth’s starships.”

“Hmmm,” Picard grunted, not sure how to respond.

For a moment, the four of them sat quietly. Finally, Keru broke the silence. “Camille, why don’t we get something more to drink in the kitchen?”