“I have level 10 security clearance,” I said. “Now, what’s a holodeck?”
“We’ll show you,” Halloway said, then turned to MacDougal. “It’s on the tour.”
They led me out of the operations center down to a docking tunnel to a docked support vessel. We walked through a corridor over to a control panel near a large hatch.
“This holovessel was designed specifically to test the holodeck in space,” MacDougal said.
“I still don’t know…”
“You from Paris, Jean-Luc?” Halloway said.
“Actually, a small village named La Barre,” I said. Seemed a strange question to ask at that moment.
“Well, I don’t know if that’s in the memory banks, but let’s see,” Halloway said. He leaned into the computer panel, “Computer, location, La Barre, France, Earth, Picard home, nice autumn afternoon.” I couldn’t imagine what he was doing.
“Program complete,” the computer said, and Halloway led me to the hatch; it opened automatically.
I almost fainted.
I was standing in front of my childhood home, with the large wooden wine barrels next to the front door. I felt the slight breeze, the smell of fermented grapes. It was impossible. I was seeing my whole vineyard—the area took up an area larger than the ship itself. I bent down and grabbed a handful of the gravel beneath my feet. I stood back up and let it roll around in my hand. It was real. I was back at home. I half expected Robert to walk by.
And then he did.
Robert exited the barn, wearing an apron covered in wine stains, wiping his hand with a dirty cloth. I knew it was a computer simulation, but he still conjured an adverse reaction. Until he gave me a big smile.
“Good morning,” he said. “Welcome to my humble home.”
I reached out and gently touched his shoulder. He was there; it wasn’t a hologram.
“Are you quite all right?” he said.
“Computer, freeze program,” Halloway said. Robert froze in position with that ridiculous and unnatural smile. “Pretty good, huh?” I looked back and saw Halloway and MacDougal standing in an archway by the door leading to the ship’s corridors, which bluntly interrupted the view down our path to the village.
“It’s unbelievable,” I said. “How does it…?”
“It combines transporter and replicator technology for the simpler forms like plants, trees, buildings,” Halloway said, “and holograms and force fields to create the people and animals.” Almost before I could finish, the scene disappeared. As it did, the walls seemed to move in; the winery and the horizon along with it were an illusion. Now I was standing in a large black box, segmented by a grid of yellow lines on the walls, floor, and ceiling. MacDougal went to the archway control panel.
“It shorted out again,” MacDougal said. “This is why we’re behind; this holodeck is actually hooked up through the dry dock to Enterprise’s power grid, but it keeps overloading it.”
“We’ll solve it,” Halloway said, “but you’ve got to tell Quinn it’s going to take time.”
“Understood,” I said. I was still processing the experience, and what it meant for starship travel. Such a convenience would be an amazing advantage: it would reduce the need for shore leave, as well as providing a multitude of training and technical simulations.
“Was it nice going home?” Halloway said.
“Oh, it was wonderful,” I said. I decided quite rightly that, in this case, the truth was completely unnecessary. I would never be using a holodeck to go home again. Still, the Enterprise was going to be quite impressive when they were done.
* * *
I left Utopia Planitia as a passenger on the U.S.S. Saratoga, which was under the command of a Vulcan captain named Storil. It was a small ship, similar to the Reliant. Saratoga was going to take me to Starbase 2, and then I would get other transportation to Starbase 3.
I was surprised to discover that there were children aboard the ship. A few officers and crew had their families with them. One night, Captain Storil invited me to join him for dinner in his cabin. We were enjoying a vegetarian meal, though mostly in silence, when I decided to ask him about it.
“It is Starfleet policy that having families aboard is a captain’s discretion,” Storil said. “It is logical that if Starfleet personnel have made the decision to have families, they will perform their duties more efficiently if they are not separated from them.”
“Still,” I said, “aren’t children a disruption?”
“If rules are properly enforced,” Storil said, “children follow them.” I couldn’t really mount an argument to this, but I also couldn’t imagine inconveniencing myself to this level.
I thought I would enjoy being back on a ship, but the week I spent on the Saratoga ended up being far from relaxing. My first few nights I was restless and unable to sleep. I took to getting up and wandering the corridors, hoping some exercise would relax me. This ended up being useless, and by the third day I was a physical wreck. I didn’t understand what the problem was; I’d spent my adult life on starships and I’d never had any trouble sleeping. But every time I lay down in bed, I had a strange and unsettling impression of danger lurking nearby. I’d get out of bed and stare out a porthole for hours, trying to see if I could make out if some enemy ship or undiscovered anomaly was threatening the vessel. All I saw were the stars. I came to know that my feeling, whatever it was, was unfounded, but I couldn’t shake it.
On the fourth night, having reached my limit, I went to sickbay in the hope of receiving some medical help to get to sleep. When I got there, it was empty except for one young cadet, a woman who couldn’t have been much older than 20. I had trouble believing that this woman in a cadet uniform was also a doctor, but I’d learned never to presume anything.
“May I help you, Captain?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m having trouble sleeping and was hoping you could give me something.”
“I’m not allowed to prescribe medicine,” the cadet said. “The Saratoga medical staff is short-handed, so they have me serving the graveyard shift, but I’m to wake one of the doctors if they’re needed.”
“No,” I said, “it’s not necessary…”
“You seem very anxious,” she said. This bit of insight surprised me. And then I noticed her deep black eyes.
“Are you Betazoid?” I said. The Betazoids were natural telepaths; it was possible this woman was reading my mind.
“I’m half-Betazoid, on my mother’s side,” she said, then held out her hand. “Deanna Troi.”
“Jean-Luc Picard,” I said, shaking her hand. “Serving part of your academy time on the Saratoga?”
“Yes, I’m training in Starfleet’s new ship counselor program.”
I was vaguely aware of it: Starfleet had decided that on larger starships it was preferable to have a trained psychologist who was separate from the ship’s doctor. “Well, good luck,” I said. I suddenly felt a strong desire to leave. I certainly didn’t feel like I needed to have my head examined. I moved toward the door.
“I do think your insomnia is related to your anxiety,” she said.
“I do not need to be psychoanalyzed by a cadet,” I said. My tone was unnecessarily sharp, and I immediately regretted it.
“Forgive me, Captain,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, no,” I said. “My fault.” I stood there. I wanted to leave, but there was something comforting about this young woman that kept me there.
“Would you like to sit down for a moment?” she said. She sat at a small table near one of the bio beds. I paused, and, not quite understanding why, I joined her. We sat in silence for a moment.
“How did you know I was anxious? Did you read my mind?”
“I’m not a true telepath,” she said. “My father was human. But I can read strong emotions. Do you know what it is you’re anxious about?”
“No.”
“I see.” She considered me for a moment. “Is this your first time on a
starship?”
“Hardly,” I said. “I just finished twenty years as captain of the Stargazer.”
“Oh,” she said. “What made you decide to leave?”
“I didn’t decide to leave,” I said. “The ship was disabled in an attack, we had to abandon it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. She appeared genuinely saddened. “Did you lose any of your crew?”
“Yes.” The images of the people who’d died on that ship that I left behind came forward in my mind. What kept me from sleeping suddenly made sense. I’d made some association with being on this ship and their deaths on Stargazer; my mind had tried to push them away. But they had lurked there, an “impending danger.”
“That’s terrible,” she said. “I can feel they meant a lot to you.” I was resentful that this woman was prying into my emotions. I wanted to escape, but I couldn’t. Somehow, by sitting down with her in the first place, I had consented to her meddling. Her questions made me uncomfortable, but I wanted them.
She waited a few more moments; it might have just been seconds, but it felt a lot longer.
“Do you think being on the Saratoga is reminding you of their deaths?”
I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. But she properly read that as affirmation.
“It’s not uncommon,” Deanna said, “for someone to feel they’ve done something wrong surviving a traumatic event that others did not.”
“I was the captain,” I said. “It was my responsibility to protect them.”
“You were the captain. You are also just a man. Some situations are out of your control.” We again sat there in silence for a few moments. The feeling that had held me there initially eased. I knew I could get up. But now I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“What do I do?” I said.
“There’s a voice inside of you telling you to avoid the memory,” she said. “But there’s also a part of you that wants to remember them. They meant a lot to you. I think you should try to listen to that part of yourself.”
I nodded, and got up.
“Thank you, Cadet,” I said. She smiled, and I left the room.
I went back to my quarters and lay down on the bed. I thought of my late friend Scully, underneath the bridge helm controls of the Stargazer trying to reconnect them so the ship could leave spacedock. I smiled a sad smile and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
A few weeks later, I’d finished the final leg of my journey and reached Starbase 3. One of the oldest of the Starfleet outposts, it was a planetary facility built on the smaller of two M-Class worlds circling Barnard’s Star. The architectural style of the starbase reflected the fact that Starfleet, in its original inception, was an Earth-based service and the facilities were built to resemble something that felt familiar to humans. Space travel took much longer back then, and the designers of the early Starbase program wanted personnel posted there to feel like it could be home. It was effective; when I beamed down to the main administration building, I felt like I’d arrived in the Earth city of Denver, despite the orange sky.
A yeoman ran out of the building to greet me and escorted me to the administrator’s office. The man behind the desk was about my age with gray in his beard and stood up to greet me.
“Good to see you, Jean-Luc,” Admiral Leyton said. “Been a long time.”
“Introduction to Federation Law class,” I said. “Right?” Leyton laughed. I had seen him at the academy after that class, but not since graduating. He’d recently received the promotion to vice admiral and this posting. Though he was more than deserving of the rank, when renewing acquaintances with old colleagues I was often left with the feeling that my career was standing still.
The yeoman left us alone, and I made my report to Leyton regarding the readiness of ships to be moved to this sector. I could see that the news I’d brought wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“Fifteen ships ready now,” Leyton said. “That’s all?”
“Another twenty will be available in three weeks,” I said, but this didn’t seem to make him feel better. “Perhaps if I knew what this was about…”
“I’m sorry you had to be kept in the dark, Jean-Luc,” Leyton said. He then tapped the communicator on his chest. “Leyton to Lieutenant Data, please report to my office.”
“Acknowledged,” the voice said. A moment later, a Starfleet lieutenant from a race I’d never seen entered the room. He seemed human except for his golden-white skin and yellow eyes. His demeanor was simultaneously pleasant and distant.
“Lieutenant Data,” he said.
“Captain Jean-Luc Picard.” I extended my hand. He looked at it curiously for a strange beat, then shook it. There was something inorganic and forced about his touch, like an expert imitation of a human handshake. It was then that I realized who this was.
“You’re the android,” I said. The words came out of my mouth involuntarily.
“Yes,” Data said. It was a matter of some note that an android, created by noted cyberneticist Dr. Noonian Soong, had graduated from Starfleet Academy, but I was in no way prepared to meet it and quickly realized I’d been rude.
“Forgive me for calling you ‘the android.’ ”
“There is no offense,” Data said. “As I am the only android in Starfleet, referring to me as ‘the android’ is an accurate description.”
“Lieutenant,” Leyton said, “please brief Captain Picard on the situation related to his mission.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Data said, walking to the large computer interface on the wall. He brought up an image of a planet. “This is an image of the planet Denobula taken with long-range sensors.”
“As you know,” Leyton said, “Denobula withdrew from Galactic affairs after the Romulan War when the enemy fleet killed three million of their people…”
“Three million, seven hundred sixty-three thousand, two hundred seventy-
one,” Data said.
“Just show him what you found,” Leyton said.
I could see that the android lieutenant had not picked up on Leyton’s annoyance at the pointless correction. Data adjusted the image, which magnified to reveal another globe in orbit of the planet.
“Is that a small moon?” I said.
“Negative,” Data said. “It is an artificial construct, perhaps a space station.”
“It’s larger than any space station I’ve ever seen,” I said. “Are we able to determine its purpose?”
“That’s the difficulty,” Leyton said. “It’s projecting an enormous amount of subspace interference that disrupts our long-range scans. Starfleet Tactical is concerned it’s a weapon of some kind.”
“The Denobulans were allies,” I said.
“Who we haven’t heard from in two hundred years,” Leyton said.
“The Denobulans do have a long history of war in their culture,” Data said.
I was fascinated by this creation. His delivery of information somehow immediately engendered trust in me.
“There is also the message,” Leyton said.
“Message?”
“Starfleet Intelligence intercepted a coded message sent throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants,” Data said.
“A message,” Leyton said, “which only Data was able to decode.”
“The code was based on a Denobulan lullaby,” Data said, “which was commonly known in Denobulan culture, but virtually unknown anywhere else. This led me to hypothesize that the message was meant only for Denobulans, perhaps some who might still be residing on other planets.”
“What did the message say?”
“Two words: ‘Come home.’ Along with a date.” Data indicated a date on the screen.
“That’s about two weeks from now,” I said. “Is that a deadline?”
“It would appear so,” Leyton said. “Starfleet Tactical is concerned that that globe is a first strike weapon, and that’s the date they plan to use it. We have to destroy it.”
“We’re going to attack? The Federation has never c
ommitted a first strike…”
“There is no better alternative,” Leyton said. “The Denobulans won’t respond to our attempts to communicate.”
“Have you told them you plan to attack?”
“How can we do that, Jean-Luc?” Leyton said. “If it really is a weapon, we’d be giving them another advantage. We have no choice. I need you to find me more ships. Lieutenant Data will help you.”
I had my orders, but I didn’t like them. This situation was very troubling. The idea that Starfleet might make a first strike was a terrible precedent and undermined the philosophy of peace that the Federation had lived under for centuries.
But the one positive in this mission was Data. As I spent the next two days with this artificial man, I went from fascinated to awed. He had an amazing ability to process a wide variety of information from multiple sources, as well as having a veritable encyclopedia of knowledge in his own brain. And though he claimed to have no emotions, he had a cheerful desire for learning and acceptance. I soon looked to him as an indispensable resource.
One day while we were going over the repair schedules of ships in the sector, I hit on an idea.
“Data,” I said, “what do Denobulans look like?”
“There are twenty-three thousand, one hundred seven images in the Federation database,” Data said.
“Choose one,” I said. Data pulled a picture up on the viewscreen in his small office. I was only vaguely familiar with the species I was looking at: it had a prominent forehead, outlined with ridges that extended down to its cheekbones. Though I’d learned about Denobulans in history, I don’t think I’d ever seen one in person.
“Now, cross-reference this photo with facial recognition software and see if any resident of a Starfleet or Federation facility has similar features.” I thought that if there were still Denobulans living in the Federation, they might be living incognito.
“I have found one,” Data said. He brought the picture up. It was a similar being to the one we’d just looked at, although a great deal older. “His name is Sim; he is a resident of Starbase 12 where he has run a facility since the year 2314.” There was something familiar about Sim, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JEAN-LUC PICARD Page 23