“That station is heavily armed,” Vigo said. “Photon torpedoes, disruptor cannons, some other weapons I can’t identify. And their shields just went up.”
“I’m also detecting a lot of active machinery,” Cheva said. “Some kind of ore refinery operating there.”
“We’re being hailed,” Black said.
“On screen,” I said. A member of a species I’d met only once before appeared on the viewscreen. He gave me a smile that I can only describe as malevolent.
“Unidentified ship,” he said. “I am Gul Dukat, commander of the station Terok Nor, and Cardassian prefect of Bajor. Please state the nature of your business.”
“Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Federation ship Stargazer. We were pursuing raiders who attacked one of our colonies. They were heading to this system.”
“Really? How terrible,” Dukat said, with oily sincerity. “And what happened
to the raiders?”
“Their ship was destroyed,” I said. I decided to be as vague as possible regarding my role in the ship’s destruction. Dukat, however, could see through my deception.
“Well, whoever they were,” he said, “I’m sure they won’t be missed.”
“So you can’t provide us with any information about them?”
“I’m afraid not. As governor of this system, I have much more important things to concern myself with.”
“Forgive my ignorance,” I said. “We’ve never visited this system before. You said it was called… Bajor?”
“Yes,” Dukat said. “It is a protectorate of the Cardassian empire. We defend the peaceful Bajorans from a hostile universe, and in exchange we only ask for a modest payment from their abundant planetary resources. It is an equitable exchange.” Though he wasn’t being explicit, I felt Dukat’s meaning was clear: they had enslaved the Bajorans, and they didn’t plan to stop there.
“We are explorers,” I said. “We would enjoy the opportunity to perhaps learn more about the Cardassian–Bajoran relationship.”
“As I mentioned,” Dukat said, “I’m quite busy. Perhaps another time. But if you do return, I will happily demonstrate how we protect Bajor from unwanted intruders.”
Cheva reacted to something on her board, and she leaned in to me. “Sir,” she said, “they’ve locked weapons on us.” I knew Stargazer would not last long in a battle with that station, and Dukat knew it too.
“Well,” I said, “thank you for your time.” Dukat smiled that terrible smile, and his face disappeared from the viewscreen. I had Crusher set a course out of the system, back to Hakton VII, to pick up our medical personnel.
“He was lying,” Crusher said, very matter-of-factly. “He probably ordered the raid.”
“Yes, but why?” Cheva said.
I asked Cheva to give me the inventory of what had been stolen from the colony. “They want a replicator,” I said. I referenced the list of stolen items. “They ripped three replicators out of the walls of several structures, leaving potentially more valuable technology alone.”
“This is a dangerous situation,” Crusher said. “They want that technology and are willing to sacrifice the lives of their own soldiers to steal it.”
“Why don’t they just ask us to trade for it?” Vigo said.
“A sign of weakness,” I said. “They wouldn’t want to reveal their position to a potential adversary.”
“And I bet they think they could get more by just taking it,” Crusher said.
As we went on our way, I realized Starfleet had a lot more to worry about than the Klingons.
* * *
It was in 2346, two years into returning as captain of the Stargazer, and I began to understand why “you can’t go home again” is an enduring cliché. I was happy to be back but it wasn’t nearly the same. Many of my officers remained, but they had all grown over time. I also came to the captain’s chair with more experience and a little less wonder and enthusiasm. And of course, Walker Keel was gone. I still had my friendship with Jack Crusher, but he had also changed. He’d taken to the responsibilities of first officer very naturally and his boyish eagerness was gone. In fact, he was often quiet, and sometimes even despondent. I had been blind to the cause, so I asked him about it.
“Oh, sorry, Captain,” he said, one day at lunch. “I’m just a lovesick fool.” His relationship had gotten very serious, and since we’d left Earth almost two years before, he’d only seen her by subspace communication. She was a student in the Starfleet medical program. Because of the separation caused by their respective careers, they had been having discussions about the reality of the future of their relationship. It would be years before they could be together, and that was only if they were posted to the same ship.
“How many years at the academy does she have left?”
“Two,” Crusher said, “and then another four of medical school.” Starfleet Medical Training had become that much more complicated as more and more species fell into the Federation’s sphere of influence. A Starfleet doctor had to have working knowledge of the physiologies of hundreds of species, and an even larger number of medical ailments. I couldn’t do anything about the medical training, but the academy education was another matter.
“What if Beverly completed her academy years aboard the Stargazer?”
“Really? Could we get approval for that?”
“I would think so,” I said. “As first officer, it would be your job to make sure she completed the curriculum. And if she worked in sickbay I would imagine she might be able to gain medical credit as well.”
“Jean-Luc… are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Though I have to insist on separate cabins until you’re married.”
Crusher laughed. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “We’re not due to go back to Earth for some time; you’ll have to figure out some way to get her out to us.”
“That,” Crusher said, “I can handle.”
He was a man determined. We shortly received orders to rendezvous with a squadron near the Federation–Klingon Neutral Zone, and Crusher found out that one ship assigned to the squadron, the Hood, was coming from Earth. He was able to not only get approval for Beverly to complete her academy degree aboard the Stargazer, he also got her passage aboard the Hood within three hours of the ship’s departure from Earth. Watching Jack receive the news that Beverly was winging her way to him, I saw some of his youthful zeal return.
When we reached the rendezvous, ten ships had gathered, and I had to face some of my own decisions. Among the ships were the Melbourne and the Yamaguchi, still relatively new, both of which had been offered to me by Hanson. The Stargazer, twelve years after I’d taken command of her, was worse off than ever, and, as I looked at the clean lines and powerful grace of those new ships, I had to wonder what it would’ve been like if I’d had a little more patience.
The lead ship, the U.S.S. Ambassador, signaled for me and my first officer to beam over immediately. Crusher and I headed to the transporter room, and when we arrived, Transporter Chief Youlin informed me that someone was beaming over from the Hood. A woman materialized on the transporter pad, and it appeared that Crusher was embracing her before the process was even complete. She had red hair; the rest of her face was momentarily obscured as they were locked in a passionate kiss. I exchanged an awkward glance with Youlin, who stifled a laugh. I finally cleared my throat, and Crusher broke from his embrace.
“Captain Jean-Luc Picard,” Crusher said, still quite flushed, “may I introduce Cadet Beverly Howard.” She smiled and gently pulled her hand from Crusher’s, who hadn’t realized he was holding it.
“An honor to meet you, Captain,” Beverly said.
“Welcome aboard, Cadet,” I said. “Unfortunately, Mr. Crusher and I are late for a meeting.” She quickly stepped off the transporter platform, and as Crusher and I beamed off the ship, she blew him a kiss.
* * *
The captains of the squadron and their execs gathered in t
he enviably spacious conference room of the Ambassador, which easily held us all. Out of the large view ports we could see all the ships lined up aft of the lead ship. Stargazer was the runt of the litter. I knew most of the men and women in the room, if not personally, then from my work as Hanson’s chief of staff. Only two were more than an acquaintance: Robert DeSoto, the friend I’d made on my first academy testing day, now captain of the Hood. He greeted me with a hearty “Bonjour, mon ami!”
The other friend was a lovely surprise: Marta Batanides. She had been promoted to captain of the Kyushu. We got to say a brief hello before the meeting. She gave me a hug, which made me a little self-conscious in such august company.
“It’s been too long,” she said. I studied her face: the youthful woman was still there, behind a touch of gray. She then leaned in closer to me. “I heard about your mother; I’m so sorry.” I thanked her. I’d forgotten what a close friend she had been, and I wanted to talk to her more, but then we noticed our leader was at the table, and we all took our seats.
We didn’t need to be told to come to order, because no one in the room was as impressive as the person at the head of it: Andrea Brand, shipmaster of the Ambassador, the Federation flagship. Even without saying a word, she was a formidable presence.
“The Klingons are planning a surprise attack,” Brand said. “We can’t stop them, but we can track their ships.” This statement was counter-intuitive: the Klingons still had cloaking devices, so their ships could gather in secret, within striking distance of their target, and we wouldn’t be any the wiser until they launched their attack. But, as I looked at Captain Brand, I knew she must have the answer to such an obvious question.
She stood up and activated the viewscreen on the wall behind her. A star map appeared, and, at every star, groups of red markings.
“These symbols on the map represent every Klingon ship in existence,” she said. “Starfleet Intelligence has kept close watch on Klingon ship movements and construction, and thanks to their diligence, we now have a complete inventory of their entire fleet, as well as each ship’s current whereabouts.”
There was a murmured response of disbelief.
“Captain Brand, how do we know they don’t already have a mass of ships under cloak?” This came from Owen Paris, a few years ahead of me at the academy, and the captain of the Al-Batani.
“For the simple reason,” Brand said, “that this project started over sixty years ago. After the first Khitomer Accords allowed Klingons access to Federation space, Starfleet Intelligence began a clandestine cataloguing initiative, monitoring individual ship movements as well as construction projects.” It was so simple, and yet brilliant: even if the Klingons knew we were monitoring them, a Klingon ship couldn’t stay under cloak that long. Eventually it would appear and be tracked.
Brand continued, pointing out an area along the Klingon–Federation border.
“As you can see, they’ve concentrated the bulk of their ships in this area, in easy striking distance to Starbase 24 and Starbase 343.” It would be the right move to attack those bases, since they were the closest Federation outposts to Klingon space. If they were destroyed, it would limit Starfleet’s ability to repair and resupply ships in an extended conflict.
Brand then adjusted the controls under the viewscreen. Blue markings appeared on the map.
“Our plan is simple,” Brand said. “Each of your ships will proceed to a preassigned route. Using long-range sensors, and without crossing the border, you will surreptitiously monitor the Klingon ships on your patrol station. If you lose contact with any of them, we will assume they’ve cloaked, and you will report to the command ship immediately. Where they launch their ships from should give us some information as to what the Klingons plans are.”
It was very clever. I must have been smiling.
“Something amusing, Captain Picard?” It was Brand; because I’d been lost in thought, I didn’t notice her looking at me. I decided to be honest.
“Not at all, Captain,” I said. “It’s brilliant. It reminds me of a blockade from the age of sail, when a frigate would be assigned to keep enemy ships bottled up in harbor.”
Now it was Brand’s turn to smile.
“Can you tell me,” Brand said, “the one problem with that comparison?”
“Sometimes the enemy ships slipped through,” I said.
* * *
The ten ships left the rendezvous and moved to their assigned routes. I regretted that I didn’t have more time to spend with my friends, but duty called. Our patrol station was near the Federation outpost on Ajilon. We pretended we were on leisurely patrols, training all our sensors on the Klingon outposts on the other side of the border. Stargazer was responsible for monitoring twenty-five ships of various sizes. It was apparent to me that I’d been given what was considered a low-risk patrol sector; we were the furthest away of any of the ships from Starbase 24 or Starbase 343. If the Klingons were going to attack those two bases, they would certainly launch from a closer location. But we kept a careful watch nevertheless.
During the two weeks we were on patrol, I was beginning to get to know the love of Jack’s life. She was young and soft-spoken, but I soon learned her manner hid a passionate intellect. Crusher himself was also different around her, a little more brash as well as occasionally, well… silly. He seemed to enjoy making her laugh.
“…and he was sitting in your chair?” Beverly said. The three of us were in the rec room having dinner. Crusher had prompted me to tell her why I didn’t approve of children on my ship.
“That’s nothing,” Crusher said. “Tell her about the egg.” I suppose some captains might think such informality would undermine their authority, but I’d learned I could trust Jack with these confidences, and now that trust seemed to naturally extend to the woman he loved.
“You can tell her,” I said. “I want to check in with the bridge.”
“They’ll call if they detect anything,” Crusher said. “What are you worried about? I don’t think the Klingons are going to attack here, do you?”
“What we think doesn’t matter,” I said. “We have our duty.”
“Excuse me for asking, but aren’t we near Archanis?” Beverly said. “That might be a prime target for them.”
“It’s not the most strategically valuable,” Crusher said.
“No,” Beverly said. “But the loss of Archanis in 2272 was a humiliation for them. Warfare for the Klingons is as much about honor as it is about strategy.” Crusher and I exchanged a look. She had insight into the current situation because academy lessons were fresh in her mind. And as if to confirm it, Cheva called from the bridge.
“Red alert,” she said. “Captain Picard to the bridge.” I clicked the intercom.
“Bridge, this is Picard, report…”
“All the Klingon ships, sir,” she said. “They’re gone.”
* * *
A few hours later, we were at Archanis. I’d contacted Brand, and she agreed with my analysis (really Beverly’s), that the Klingons were headed there. Brand would be coming with the rest of her squadron to buttress Archanis’s defenses. There were three Class-M planets in the system, several orbital facilities, but currently no starships. Until help arrived, Stargazer would be alone.
The situation of our patrol had gone from dull to dire. It seemed unlikely we would survive the day.
But all we could do was wait. I paced the bridge, occasionally staring at the starfield. I remember reading that the original Klingon cloaks caused a slight distortion of the stars, and so I searched, vainly hoping for some forewarning before those ships appeared. I looked around at the faces of the bridge crew: they wore expressions of determination, but fear was just below the surface.
“There’s a spike in neutrino emissions,” Cheva said. “Could be cloaked ships.”
“Bearing, Mr. Crusher?”
“Directly ahead of our position,” Crusher said. I looked back at the viewscreen. The stars began to shimmer…
Twenty-five Klingon ships solidified into reality, filling my screen, blotting out the stars. Their forward torpedo launchers were all trained on us, all glowing red.
“They’ve all locked onto us,” Cheva said. We would not survive that onslaught.
“Phasers, lock onto the lead ship,” I said. “Fire…”
And then suddenly, the ships shimmered again, dissolved, and disappeared. All of them.
“Sensors, report!”
“They’re gone, sir,” Cheva said. “I’ve got nothing.”
“Stay sharp,” I said. We remained at the ready. I glanced at the chronometer; thirty seconds passed. I checked our boards: no neutrino emissions, no sensor contacts, nothing. I looked back at the chronometer. Now a minute had passed.
“They had us,” Crusher said. “What happened?”
“Sir, message coming in from Captain Brand,” Black said.
“On screen,” I said, and turned to see Brand on the spacious bridge of the Ambassador.
“Captain,” I said, “the Klingons were here, but they… left.”
“I don’t think they’re coming back,” Brand said. “They’re needed elsewhere. There’s been an attack on two Klingon colonies.” This seemed unbelievable; the Federation had never initiated a war. She immediately read the confusion in my expression. “The Romulans have attacked Narendra III and Khitomer. The Klingons have another war to worry about.”
It turned out that the Romulans had not believed the Klingons regarding the event with the planet-killer, and had been planning their own military action in retaliation. They were both warlike societies, and I suppose the Federation was lucky that they turned their hostility to one another. However, the war between Romulus and Qo’noS3 was not without casualties for Starfleet. When the Romulans attacked Narendra III, the inhabitants sent a distress call. The only ship to answer it was the U.S.S. Enterprise- C, the first ship that had taken me into space. The vessel, under the command of a woman named Rachel Garrett, engaged four Romulan warships in an attempt to stop the attack. The efforts of Captain Garrett and her crew of 700 were unsuccessful. The ship was lost with all hands, and the Klingon outpost destroyed. I was discussing the tragedy the next evening at dinner with Jack and Beverly—meals with them were quickly becoming a regular event. Crusher was going over the crew list of the Enterprise- C. He found the name of someone he knew, the ship’s helmsman.
STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JEAN-LUC PICARD Page 18