Encounter at Farpoint

by David Gerrold

  Three months later, Beverly had been notified of Jack’s death during an away mission on an alien planet. It had seemed like a simple survey assignment, a reconnoiter of a populated area under cover of native dress. Nothing had indicated any jeopardy. Then, suddenly, the natives had turned on the away team and attacked them. Jack had died in the surprise assault as he covered for the rest of the team until they could beam up. His body had been left behind, and the natives had not molested it. Picard had gone down himself under cover of darkness to retrieve Jack’s corpse and bring it back to the ship.

  It was decided Lieutenant Jack Crusher was a hero and his body should be returned to Earth for Starfleet burial. Beverly had dutifully gone to the ceremony and behaved as a fallen hero’s widow should. She remembered vividly the brisk, windy November day and the heartbreaking clarity of the deep blue sky. Starfleet had gone to the limit in providing an honor guard, the Fleet band, and a missing man formation in atmosphere craft. She remembered, too, Picard’s face as he stood near her; and he seemed to her a man shaken and bereaved. Jack’s subspace messages home to her had indicated that they had become good friends and had developed a marvelous working rapport in the short time they had served together.

  The ceremony had been deadly long for her. She had cried all her tears when the news had been brought to her by a Starfleet chaplain and one of Jack’s friends. Now all she had left was the grief and the dull, empty pain—and, of course, Jack’s child. The Starfleet honor guard had removed the starry flag from the casket and meticulously folded it in the traditional triangle. She recalled the young lieutenant who had handed it to her had studied her with awe. Hero’s widow. She thought bitterly then that she would have traded anything to be just an Earthside doctor and Starfleet officer’s wife again.

  The next day, she had applied for Starfleet Medical Corps. If Jack Crusher could no longer reach for the stars, she and his child would.

  Wesley Crusher plunked his suitcases down in the spacious quarters allotted to him and his mother and raced off in search of other people his own age. He had no need to look at the ship’s location chart to find his way to the recreation deck. He had memorized it from the information packet sent to his mother before the transfer, and Wesley’s memory was eidetic. It was too late for classes to be in session, and he thought he might find other teenagers somewhere on the recreation or holodecks.

  He met the Harris twins, Adam and Craig, just outside Holodeck 4. They turned out to be his own age and between them determined they would undoubtedly be in several classes together. Adam and Craig had been aboard with their parents since the Enterprise’s commissioning, and Wesley envied their seniority. Still, neither of the other two were the least condescending or overbearing about it. Holodeck 4 was waiting to be programmed, and Wesley opted for a steaming rain forest with a flaming red sky. When he had shown a highly developed reading sense at an early age, his mother had gotten him copies of just about every classic adventure story that ever existed. He particularly enjoyed Edgar Rice Burroughs; and, in his mind, he had often traveled with Tarzan and John Carter of Mars.

  In no time at all, the three boys were swinging on vines in a warm tropical rain, splitting the air with yodeling cries. Wesley’s wet hands skidded on a vine he reached for, and he plummeted to the ground with a thump. His feet went out from under him, and he landed on his back in the mud, laughing. The two other boys swung down behind him, hooting good-natured insults which he accepted with a grin.

  “This is great,” Wesley said as he picked himself up and made a few futile gestures at wiping the mud off his wet clothes. “I’ve never seen a holodeck this big.”

  “You wanna change it?” Adam asked. “It’ll only take a minute to program it over to something else.”

  “We had Mount Everest yesterday,” Craig put in. “The program won’t let us put in an avalanche, but there’s a real good Yeti to track.”

  “Yeah, with the programmed random factor, sometimes we even get to catch it.”

  Wesley felt hunger rumbling in his stomach and glanced at his chronometer. “I can’t now. I have to get back for dinner. How about after that?”

  “Sure,” Adam said. “We can show you the ecology deck, too. Nobody minds if we go there to look at the birds and animals.”

  Ecology decks were nice, but Wesley had seen those before. Sometimes the techs let the children help feed the tame animals. But Wesley had his heart set on visiting somewhere else. “I want to see the bridge.”

  Craig shook his head. “Can’t, Wes. Strictly off limits.”

  “Don’t they run tours or something?”

  “Not on Captain Picard’s ship,” Adam replied. “Our dad says ninety percent of the crew never get onto the bridge. They don’t have any business there.”

  “Huh. Well . . . I’ll see you guys later. Ecology deck at 2015, okay?”

  Craig and Adam nodded, and Wesley splashed through the rain toward the portal that led out of the holodeck. He tapped the panel beside the door, and the door slid open to let him into the corridor. As he ran down the hall, he left a sloppy trail of mud and water behind him.

  A passing crewman came across the messy deck, paused to glance at the holodeck entrance, and shook his head. “Monsoon season again,” he observed wearily.

  Riker stood before the huge main viewscreen watching the Hood slowly push out of orbit. He knew the rest of the station keeping bridge crew was busy behind him while he waited there, saying goodbye in his thoughts to the ship he had served aboard for three years. The Hood was a fine Fleet vessel, and Captain DeSoto had given him every opportunity to grow and learn as a first officer. He would miss them both. He heard the turbolift doors open behind him and turned to face Picard.

  “Getting the feel of her, Commander Riker?”

  Riker met him by the captain’s chair. “I’d like to take her out of orbit and step her up to warp five to see how she runs.” He nodded back toward the viewscreen. “We could race the Hood back toward Earth for a few parsecs.” He grinned cheerfully. “If you don’t mind.”

  “I’m afraid that will have to wait for a while,” Picard said drily, “though I understand the impulse perfectly. Have you signaled the Hood?”

  “Yes, sir. Your exact message. Bon voyage, mon ami.”

  The captain smiled briefly but warmly. “Captain DeSoto is an old friend.” He stepped toward the main viewscreen as he addressed the computer. “And what was the reply, computer?”

  The big viewscreen flickered and then flared blindingly with a flash of light. It dwindled into an image of Q, still dressed as a judge, as his voice thundered around the bridge. “You’re wasting time! Or did you think I was gone?”

  Picard and Riker both jumped, startled; but Picard collected himself almost immediately. Worf, who had been seated at the conn, reacted instinctively, rolling out of the low curving chair and drawing his phaser at the same moment. In two more steps, he had placed himself protectively between Picard and the screen, pointing his phaser at the image there.

  “Do you intend to blast a hole through the viewer, Lieutenant?” Picard inquired evenly.

  Worf glanced at the screen and then at the captain and murmured an embarrassed apology. He slipped the phaser away and allowed Picard to wave him aside, to be dealt with later.

  Picard looked up at the viewscreen again, still maintaining his level tone of voice. “If the purpose of this is to test humans, your Honor, we must proceed in our own way.”

  “You are dilatory!”Q roared. “You have twenty-four hours! Any further delay, and you risk summary judgment against you, Captain.” The brilliant white light flashed from the screen again and then subsided to a serene view of Deneb IV.

  Riker looks at Picard, shaking his head. “Summary judgment?”

  “Q appears to have a flair for dramatics. And speaking of that . . . Mister Worf.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “You reacted fast, Lieutenant,” Riker said with admiration. He appreciated the Kling
on’s ability to arm and defend almost instantly.

  “But futilely,” Picard pointed out.

  “I’ll learn to do better, sir.”

  “Of course you will. We’ve a long voyage ahead of us.” Picard nodded to dismiss Worf, and a flicker of a smile took the sting from his previous words. Worf settled gratefully back into the conn chair.

  Riker waved a hand toward the main viewer to indicate the vanished Q. “What do we do now, sir? If they’re monitoring our every move, every word. . . .”

  “We do exactly what we’d do if this Q never existed. If we’re going to be damned, let’s be damned for what we really are.”

  The delayed arrival of both the stardrive and saucer sections had made it impossible for Picard to make an appointment to meet Groppler Zorn before the next day. Riker delivered his report about the peculiar incidents witnessed on Farpoint Station, and Picard ordered him back to the bridge for his duty shift. He was seated in the command chair when the strange-looking officer he had seen earlier entered the bridge.

  “Lieutenant Commander Data reporting for duty, sir.”

  Riker looked at him closely. The officer before him was of medium height and slim. His dark hair swept back smoothly from his forehead, and his yellow eyes were bright in his golden-toned skin. “I was told you were merely escorting Admiral McCoy to the Hood, Mister Data. It’s been some time since she broke orbit.”

  “I apologize, sir. The admiral detained me on board until the Hood was almost out of shuttle range. He insisted he wanted to make me something called a ‘mint julep,’ but he couldn’t locate any fresh mint.” He frowned in puzzlement. “Query—what is a mint julep?”

  “It’s an alcoholic drink, Lieutenant,” Riker said. “Of Earth origin. Associated with the southern United States—and the admiral.”

  “Ah.” Data automatically filed the information. “But of course, I don’t drink.”

  Riker hesitated, aware of the tension building in him. Then he said, “Your personal record is classified ‘eyes only’ for the Captain, Mister Data—but somehow I expected you to be an alien.”

  “One could say that I am. I am an android created and programmed by a race alien to your own. It is all in your point of view, isn’t it, sir?”

  “Mister Data—” Riker began.

  “You can call me Data, sir,” the android interrupted. “Everyone does. Shall I run a check of ship’s systems, sir? The captain likes it done once every twelve-hour cycle.”

  “Fine, Mister—”

  “Data.”

  “Right,” Riker said glumly. A computer as second officer of the Enterprise—he hated the thought of it. Logical computers were fine as far as they went, but they only knew what was programmed into them. They could not react spontaneously in new situations. He studied Data’s upright back as the android sat at the Ops console running systems checks. What was Picard thinking of?

  Riker rolled over in his bunk the next morning when the computer woke him at the hour he had requested. He groaned, wearily stretched his lanky frame and sat up. He had dreamt of her again, waking often because he knew it was a dream and he wanted to be free of it. But when he fell back to sleep, her lovely face floated to the surface of his mind, smiling at him. He had left her behind, transferring off the Yorktown without actually saying goodbye, running (he admitted it) from her beauty and the feeling he had for her. He was ambitious and wanted to move ahead, both in rank and in starships; and his logic told him he would move faster and further alone. When she had called him “imzadi,” he felt he had to leave—and quickly. He wasn’t sure of the word’s exact meaning, but its general import was one of permanent commitment. He hadn’t liked himself for leaving, but he had finally reconciled himself to that personal weakness. Still, he had never been able to sleep well when the memories in his rebellious mind brought back her image to smile at him.

  The food slot delivered a breakfast of ham, eggs, buttered toast and a steaming cup of coffee. He was halfway through it when the computer panel glowed on the wall and intoned, “Commander Riker, please report to Captain Picard in his ready room. Acknowledge.”

  Riker looked longingly at the plate and the cup. “Acknowledged,” he said. “Is the captain in a hurry, or is a ten-minute delay acceptable to him?”

  He was able to get in another gulp of coffee and turn on his shower before the computer glowed again and spoke in its pleasant voice. “Ten minutes is acceptable, Commander.” Riker’s “thanks” was lost in the splatter of his hot shower.

  Picard was waiting for him with the offer of another cup of coffee. Riker declined and settled into the chair opposite the captain. “It’s been eleven hours, sir, since Q—”

  “I’m well aware of the time, Commander. There hasn’t been one untoward incident, but I can’t forget his prediction that we’ll face some critical test.”

  “At Farpoint.”

  “He mentioned it specifically.” Picard leaned forward and flicked on his viewscreen. “I’ve been going over what we know about the Bandi, the planet, the station. Incidentally, I found your report very interesting. The Bandi’s source of energy, for example.”

  “Yes, sir. The planet’s internal heat results in abundant geothermal energy, but it’s about all this world does offer.”

  “And it’s your belief that this is what made it possible for them to construct this base to Starfleet standards?”

  Riker nodded and referred to his own notes. “We could assume they’ve been trading their surplus energy for the construction materials they’ve used. Before you arrived, Captain DeSoto had the Hood do several scans and transferred the results to our records here, and the Enterprise’s current scans confirm many of the materials used are not found on this world.” He looked up at Picard and noticed again how closely the man listened. The dark eyes never strayed; his attention never wandered. “The question is, who are they trading with? Our first contact team reported the Bandi were unsophisticated in terms of space travel—”

  “Which they still are.”

  “Yes, sir, but I’m sure you are also aware the contact team received the assurance they were the first interstellar voyagers the Bandi had met. So how have the Bandi been doing that off-world trading—if they have been—and with whom?”

  “The Ferengi immediately spring to mind.”

  “Deneb IV is rather far out of their territory,” Riker said doubtfully.

  Picard smiled briefly and shook his head. “Commander, I have watched the Ferengi operate for the past twenty-five years, and I can assure you if there is a profit to be made, the Ferengi will travel the length and width of the galaxy—twice—to do so.”

  Riker had to give Picard the point. The Ferengi were a somewhat mysterious race, not yet confronted face to face by humans, but leaving their contracts behind as calling cards in many places humans were now venturing. Their existence had been first suspected fifty-four years before in a quadrant of the galaxy Starfleet had just begun to explore. Since the Ferengi Alliance was constantly pushing its boundaries outward, as was the Federation, conflicts were inevitable.

  The Ferengi Alliance, as far as was known, was a union of planets under the domination of the Ferengi. Some information had leaked out over the years through prospectors, free-traders, and other itinerants that not all the races under Ferengi rule were happy. Some planets were simply in close proximity and unable to elude their influence. Some had been subjugated by armed might and were not strong enough to break free. Others were held by political ties or economic dependence. It was the economics that were key to the Ferengi.