STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JEAN-LUC PICARD

by David A. Goodman

  “I knew Richard Castillo at the academy,” Crusher said. “Good guy, very earnest. Sad that he had to die for nothing.”

  “Maybe not for nothing,” Beverly said.

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “There’s been an intense focus on Klingon culture in my classes at the academy,” Beverly said. “I think the commandant knew war was coming. In any event, one Klingon warrior sacrificing himself to protect other Klingons is a very meaningful act of honor, even if he or she fails. It guarantees them a place in the warrior’s afterlife.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Crusher said.

  “Well, seven hundred Federation ‘warriors’ on the Enterprise- C sacrificed themselves to save Narendra III…” Beverly said. “If they are true to their own customs, there may just be the possibility of real peace between our two societies.”

  Beverly would turn out to be right, and as the days went on I became more impressed at this person who’d come into my friend Jack Crusher’s life. And as we sat down to eat, and I watched how she looked at my best friend, I found myself envious that she hadn’t come into mine.

  1 EDITOR’S NOTE: The First Khitomer Accords, signed in 2293, established peace between the Klingon Empire and the Federation. The Second Khitomer Accords established a permanent alliance between the two governments. As of 2342 (the year Picard is writing about) negotiations had not begun.

  2 EDITOR’S NOTE: The 602 Club was a famous watering hole frequented by Starfleet officers since the 22nd century. It was unfortunately destroyed in 2375 during the Dominion war when the Breen attacked Earth.

  3 EDITOR’S NOTE: Qo’noS (pronounced “KRO-nus”) is the homeworld of the Klingon Empire.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “AND SO, IT IS MY HONOR TO UNITE YOU, Jack Crusher, and you, Beverly Howard, in the bonds of matrimony…”

  It was a sunny, humid spring day in the small village of Cornwall, in the state the ancient Americans called “Connecticut.” Jack said that his family went back several centuries in this town: his maternal grandmother, Clara Sedgwick, who officiated the wedding, had regaled the visitors the night before about her ancestor who served in the United States Civil War.1

  The village had remained almost as rural as when it was founded. The wedding took place at Jack’s family home, set amongst a stretch of woods. It was the second wedding I would attend in my dress uniform, this one however as best man. I stood next to Jack, who faced Beverly. Though still a cadet, she eschewed a uniform and instead wore a white dress and veil in the ancient Earth tradition. She wore it with grace and splendor, and stared soulfully into my best friend’s eyes, never noticing my rapt gaze.

  Clara had them say their vows and exchange rings. Jack lifted Beverly’s veil and they kissed. The audience of about a hundred people broke out into spontaneous applause, and I joined in. The joy I felt for my friends was tempered by the feelings I’d developed for Beverly over the past two years.

  After the service, Jack was thanking his grandmother, when Beverly stepped over to me.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Captain,” she said. She leaned in and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. “It means so much to us that you’re here.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it,” I said, returning her smile. I felt my face flush. Uncomfortable with our closeness, I stepped back. “You’re both very special to me.” Jack came back over and shook my hand warmly.

  “Thank you, Captain,” he said.

  “None of that ‘Captain’ business today,” I said. We joined the other guests, including several members of the crew. I noticed Scully already with a drink in his hand. I did my best to engage with the merriment. When I felt I’d given an appropriate amount of time to the party, I made my excuses and said my goodbyes. My last image was of Jack and Beverly absorbed in a lively dance, sharing their joy, surrounded by loved ones. I withdrew, headed to the center of town, alone.

  My thoughts went to my own family. I reached the Cornwall transporter station, very reminiscent of the one in my hometown. I’d been avoiding going back to the vineyard, but there was unfinished business waiting for me there. I stepped forward to the technician at the control panel.

  “Destination?” he said.

  “La Barre, France,” I said.

  An hour or so later I was standing in the barn that held the wine tanks.

  “So, you’re home,” Robert said—his standard greeting. He stood on the gangplank over one of the wine tanks, pressing down the skins with the large paddle.

  “I can’t stay long,” I said.

  “I didn’t expect you would,” he said. Robert was infuriating. He continued on, pressing the paddle into the sloshing purple mess. He wasn’t going to make this easy for me.

  “How was the funeral?”

  “Very simple,” Robert said. “Just me and some people from town. Smaller than Mother’s.”

  “I am sorry I wasn’t here,” I said. “I was several hundred light-years away when I found out.” This was the truth; I was out at the Cardassian border when I’d received word of my father’s death. It would’ve taken me weeks to get back home. And the truth was, upon hearing of my father’s passing, the memory of his coldness toward me when Mother died was still fresh in my mind. It left no room for sorrow.

  “He wouldn’t have wanted a fuss,” Robert said. He stopped what he was doing; I felt like I’d passed some test by bringing up the awkward subject of my father’s death. Robert took the paddle and laid it across the gangplank, then made his way to the ladder on the side and climbed down.

  “Come with me.”

  He led me into the house and into the kitchen. There was a small lockbox on the table.

  “Father left you that,” Robert said. This was a surprise; I hadn’t expected him to leave me anything. And I was correct not to; I opened the box, and took a quick glance inside. There was a PADD, and on it was a letter from Starfleet Academy. It began “Dear Mr. Picard: we are sorry to inform you…” It was my rejection letter from when I first applied.

  “What is this about?”

  “I don’t know,” Robert said. “It was the only thing he left in his will to you.”

  I didn’t understand it. It seemed to be an insult from the grave, but the purpose of which I couldn’t comprehend. A reminder of a failure? I looked at Robert. I could see he wasn’t interested in this. He had another agenda, and I immediately knew what it was.

  “This was all he left me,” I said. “That’s what you want me to know.”

  Robert stood still, unable to meet my gaze. I had no expectation that my father would leave me anything, but Robert’s concern was the vineyard. It was his now, and he wanted me to know it. I looked at him. He was almost 50, and though he would probably live a lot longer, he’d devoted his whole life to the family business. It was his entire past, and the only possibility of a future. I didn’t know what Robert’s plans were, though I assumed he would want a family to pass the vineyard onto as my father had to him. Yet, I was stung by Robert’s lack of generosity. He didn’t want to risk sharing any of it with me. We’d lost both our parents, and though that might have brought some brothers closer together, in our case, it only cemented our distance. We were both victims in a sense; my father hadn’t dealt with this situation with respect for either of us.

  “Good luck,” I said. I shook his hand. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. When I left, I expected this would be the last time I would see him. I walked back to the transport station in La Barre, and beamed back to the Stargazer.

  * * *

  “Beverly’s pregnant,” Crusher said.

  “Congratulations,” I said, giving him a warm handshake. He had just returned from his honeymoon and found me in engineering, where Scully and I were reviewing the completed maintenance we’d done while in Earth orbit. “That was fast,” Scully said. “Wedding was only two weeks ago.” Crusher

  and I exchanged a glance and laughed.

  “Yeah,” Crusher said. “I
guess you didn’t notice the shotgun her father was holding.” This was of course a joke. Jack told me that his and Beverly’s families had known that Beverly was pregnant before the wedding. It was a fait accompli that they were going to marry, and humans were beyond such narrow-mindedness that said they had to because the woman had got pregnant.

  Crusher and I left Scully and headed up to the bridge. I asked him where his new bride was.

  “Actually, that’s something I wanted to mention to you,” Crusher said. “She’s decided to finish her studies on Earth. With your approval, of course.”

  “Why?” This news caught me off guard. I’d been steeling myself for her return, and now I was sincerely disappointed not to be seeing her again. “I certainly hope she didn’t think I would have trouble with a pregnant crewman.”

  “She wasn’t worried about the pregnancy,” Crusher said. “She was worried about what would happen afterward.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Come on, you’re not exactly a fan of having children aboard your ship,” Crusher said. “And since we weren’t sure where Stargazer would be seven months from now, she decided she wanted to avoid the potential awkwardness of that situation.”

  “That was very thoughtful,” I said. But this revelation had left me embarrassed and a little somber. That my stories of difficult children on board the Stargazer had been the deciding factor in Beverly not returning upset me. I somehow felt I’d hurt her, which I knew was ridiculous.

  “Well,” I said, “when she’s through with the academy, I hope she’ll consider a posting on this ship.”

  “I hope we’re not still here.” As we got on the turbolift to the bridge, I could see beneath his good cheer was a sadness.

  “Was it difficult to leave her?” I said.

  “Leave them,” he said. “I have a family now.”

  “I’ll get you back to them,” I said. He smiled, and we exited to the bridge.

  * * *

  “The Cardassians have destroyed the colony on Setlik III,” Captain Ross said. He was on the viewscreen, calling from the bridge of his ship the Crazy Horse. Over the past few years, incidents of Cardassian raids on ships and colonies had escalated, so Starfleet sent a task force commanded by Ross to the border with Cardassian space. This was supposed to prevent a conflict, but it had in fact seemed to ignite one, as now the Cardassians had wiped out a Federation colony.

  “Code One?” I said. Ross nodded.

  Code One. We were at war.

  “I have new orders for you, Captain,” Ross said. “The Stargazer has been detailed to my task force, while we await further reinforcements.”

  “Yes, Captain,” I said. I looked at Ross. A beefy man with a hangdog expression, he was still several years younger than me. I’d often been in the position of giving orders to older people, and now I would find myself on the opposite end of that awkward relationship.

  “You are to proceed to Starbase 32 and pick up a shipment of supplies that will arrive there tomorrow from Earth,” Ross said. “I’m sending the manifest now. We’re about to find ourselves in a shooting war, and we’re going to need those supplies as soon as possible.”

  “Acknowledged,” I said. “We won’t let you down.” I signed off and Ross left the screen. “Mr. Crusher, set course for Starbase 32, warp 6, engage.” As we entered warp, I noticed the crew looked uneasy. We’d engaged in the occasional skirmish and had faced down a fleet of Klingon ships, but none of the crew had ever fought in an actual war. That, unfortunately, was also true for their captain. Still, I had to find some words of comfort and encouragement.

  “War is something to be avoided at all costs,” I said. “But when circumstances don’t allow you to, then all you can do is your best. This ship has survived a long time and accomplished a great deal, because its crew understood where its duty lay. This war will be no different. We will do our duty, and we will succeed.”

  As it turned out, I was right, but not quite in the way that I thought.

  I assumed that once we picked up the supplies at Starbase 32, Stargazer would join Ross’s task force. But Ross had a string of newer, faster, better-armed ships than mine, and the “milk run” became our chief duty. We transported supplies and personnel back and forth between Starbase 32, other starships and the ships on the front line. During the first two years of the war, the Stargazer participated in no battles. It gave one the ambivalent feeling that you were both safe and somehow not doing enough.

  A few months into our third year of war, however, one person aboard got something out of the situation. We were in the recreation room one evening playing poker (I had started a regular game with Jack Crusher, Dr. Ailat, Scully, and Cheva). We had just delivered dilithium and photon torpedoes to Ross’s task force. The game helped relieve the monotony on these long trips back and forth. I was dealing five-card stud when Jack told us the news.

  “Beverly and Wesley are on Starbase 32,” Jack said. I was overcome with a wave of anticipation. I had not seen Beverly since she’d left the ship, and she had faded from my mind. I’d seen photos of her and their young son, but having her far away made me forget the feelings I’d had for her. Now that I might be seeing her again, they came flooding back. I focused intently on the game, and let the others ask the questions that were on my mind.

  “That’s wonderful,” Cheva said. “Just visiting?”

  “No,” Jack said. “She’s finished with the academy, and is going to complete her medical training at the starbase hospital.”

  “It is an exceptional teaching facility,” Ailat said.

  “You’re going to get to see a lot of them,” Cheva said, and Jack smiled. He hadn’t met his son face-to-face yet, only over subspace communications. It had been weighing on him, and he told me he’d even been toying with the idea of resigning his commission. I had encouraged him to find another solution, and it seemed he had.

  “Could we focus on the game, please?” Scully said. “Looks like the captain’s dealt himself a straight draw.” Scully read my hand well: I had a two, four, five showing, and my hold card was a three.

  I dealt everyone’s last card. I got a six of spades, completing my straight, a very difficult hand to get in this game. The betting started. Jack had two kings, a nine and ten up: his best possible hand was three of a kind, which wouldn’t beat me. He bet heavily and Cheva, Ailat and Scully folded. The betting got to me and I raised; I knew I had a better hand than Jack. Jack, however, didn’t seem to care, or thought I was bluffing. He raised me.

  I looked at my hole card, then his hand, playing coy because I knew I had him beat.

  “Well, Jean-Luc,” Crusher said. “Raise, call, or fold.” If I raised, he would probably raise as well, and I would take all his chips. But I looked at this man, my friend. I thought of his anticipation of the warm embrace of family, one that I’d never really experienced. I don’t know why I did what I did next.

  “Fold,” I said, flipping the cards over, and pushing them into the center with the other folded hands, so no one could see what I had.

  “Funny,” Jack said. “I thought you had me beat.”

  “No,” I said. “You had the better hand.”

  * * *

  “This is Captain Picard,” Jack said. He held his toddler son, Wesley, who hid his face in his father’s neck when I tried to say hello. Beverly gave me a hug. She looked lovely. We had arrived at Starbase 32 and were standing at the airlock hatch. I’d come to greet Jack’s family, which in some ways I regarded as my own.

  “Please come have dinner with us, Captain,” Beverly said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “But I have some work to finish up.” Seeing the three of them together, I felt the connection that I wasn’t a part of, and certainly didn’t want to be in the way. I watched them leave and headed back to the bridge.

  After over two years of coming to this base, the shore facilities held little interest for me, so after completing my shift on the bridge, I retired to my cabin for dinn
er.

  I sat down at my desk for a meal of soup and bread. I intended to read some dispatches, but I couldn’t focus. My mind wandered to Jack holding his young son, and I tried to recall being held by my own father. He must have picked me up at some point, I just didn’t remember.

  I hadn’t thought about my father since I had returned home, but now I was distracted with the one unsolved mystery of his death: the PADD he had left for me with my rejection letter from the academy. I hadn’t looked at it since Robert had given it to me.

  I dug out the PADD from the storage container that I’d tossed it in. Why would my father leave this for me? I started to read it, which I realized I hadn’t really done when I first got it from Robert, and immediately noticed something. The date was wrong.

  March 13, 2287. My first application to the academy was in 2321. I kept reading. It was the same letter. Except for the “Dear Mr. Picard” it was a form letter. And then I saw and understood—I wasn’t the “Mr. Picard” it was addressed to.

  It was addressed to Maurice Picard.

  My father.

  I couldn’t believe what I was reading. My father, at 17, had applied to the academy and been rejected. He’d kept this a secret, maybe even from my mother, and decided before he died to let me know.

  There was so much to process. For my entire adult life he had denigrated my ambitions; in my hand was the key to understanding why. He resented not just that I was living my dream, I was living his dream, which had been denied to him. What had looked to me like disapproval had actually been jealousy. It brought back so many memories, placing them all in a different context, and it raised as many questions as it answered. When I was rejected the first time, he couldn’t express any empathy in a situation that he himself had experienced. It was hard for me even as an adult to see how small a man my father was.