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

by David A. Goodman

  “Facility? What kind of facility?”

  “A bar. It is named ‘Feezal’s.’ ”

  “Check and see if he’s still there.”

  “He has left. He filed a flight plan yesterday… for Denobula.” Data looked up at me; he seemed impressed that I’d been able to track down a Denobulan in the Federation. “Intriguing. This person may be a source of valuable information.”

  “He almost certainly knows why he’s going home,” I said. “His course will take him fairly close to Starbase 3, correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” Data said. “In six point seven days. But it would seem unlikely that he would voluntarily provide us with the information we seek.”

  “He won’t have to,” I said. A plan was forming in my mind. One that I hoped would avoid a military incursion that would stain Starfleet for generations.

  “Let’s go see Admiral Leyton,” I said.

  * * *

  One week later, Data and I were in a small, somewhat ancient Tellarite scout vessel, floating in space without engine power. Our warp reactor had been sabotaged. By us.

  Also, we were disguised as Denobulans.

  The prosthetics we wore were quite convincing, and small devices that Lieutenant Data had created made us read to any scanner as being Denobulan. I hoped our deception would succeed. Leyton had recognized that this was a good intelligence-gathering opportunity, but had given me a strict time limit: if he didn’t hear from me in four days he was going to proceed with his attack.

  “I’m detecting the transport,” Data said.

  “Send the distress signal,” I said. I needed to wait until the last possible moment. I couldn’t risk another ship answering our faux plea for help, but it had to be general enough to avoid looking suspicious.

  “The transport is responding,” Data said.

  “On screen,” I said.

  On the small viewscreen, an elderly Denobulan appeared. It was Sim. This was a particularly long-lived species, so the fact that Sim appeared elderly meant he must be of a considerably advanced age.

  “What have we here?” the old Denobulan said. Despite his age, he had a youthful bearing.

  “I am Phlogen,” Data said. “This is Mettus.” Data and I had agreed ahead of time that I would let him do most of the talking. He had in his head more information about the Denobulans than anyone, which was how I was able to sell Admiral Leyton on this spy mission.

  “How interesting,” he said. “I named one of my children Mettus. I am Sim. What seems to be the trouble?”

  “Our engines have failed,” Data said. “We do not possess the necessary tools or expertise to fix them.” I realized that there was a downside to letting Data speak: he was overly formal. I hoped that our friend wouldn’t notice.

  “I don’t know that I can help you, I don’t really have much mechanical expertise,” he said. “Were you heading home?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, if you’re willing to abandon your ship, I can, as the humans say, ‘give you a lift.’ ”

  “That would be greatly appreciated,” Data said.

  Sim docked with us, and we boarded his ship. It was a small craft, crammed with cages holding all manner of creatures and plants.

  “Forgive my menagerie,” he said. “And I suggest you keep your hands free of the cages.” He led us to two seats behind his at the control panel. He took the helm, disconnected from our derelict craft, and headed off to Denobula.

  A bat in a cage near me tittered noisily.

  “What kind of bat is that?” I said.

  “Pyrithian,” he said. “Careful, she enjoys the taste of fingers.”

  “You have quite a collection.”

  “I was a doctor in a previous life, back when practicing space medicine relied on live animals and plants for cures, so I would collect flora and fauna from whatever planet I visited. Medical technology has long since made this kind of thing obsolete, so I stopped practicing medicine, but I haven’t been able to cure myself of the habit of collecting.”

  “How long have you been away from Denobula?” I said.

  “Oh, I haven’t lived there in over two hundred years,” he said. “But I’ve been back to visit. What about you? What took you away from home?”

  I glanced at Data. I wanted him to answer this question.

  “We are geologists,” Data said, “exploring other planets looking for solutions to the seismic problems on Denobula.”

  “A worthy effort,” Sim said.

  I was relieved but not surprised. I’d spent enough time with Data to know that he could tap into the historical database in his head to reference Denobulans who’d left their homeworld and use the information to craft a believable answer. What interested me about Data as a creation was that, if instructed, he had the ability to lie. And he did it very convincingly.

  We had to travel several hours to Denobula, and Sim chatted with us the entire time. Data did an incredible job maintaining our cover, while I waited for an opportunity to find out what Sim knew. I had to be careful and wait for the subject to come up naturally. Eventually it did.

  “I have to say,” Sim said, “I was surprised they were able to complete the project so quickly.”

  “Yes,” I said, “it’s quite an accomplishment.”

  “Hmmm,” Sim said.

  “You seem conflicted,” I said. “Do you think we’re making the wrong decision?”

  “No,” he said. “But I have made a lot of friends in the Federation. I will miss them.”

  I glanced at Data—this had an ominous ring to it. I was afraid that Leyton might be right. But, as I had been spending time with Sim, memories started to nag at me. His face was still familiar. I decided to try to figure out why. I got him talking about his bar on Starbase 12.

  “Why did you decide to settle there?”

  “I don’t talk about it very often,” he said. “I served in Starfleet. I still enjoy the company of their officers.”

  “When did you serve in Starfleet?” Some lost piece of memory was fighting its way forward to the front of my brain…

  “Oh, before they founded their Federation. I was part of something called the Interspecies Medical Exchange, and served on one of their starships.”

  I remembered, and a split second before I could stop him, Data did too.

  “The name of that Denobulan,” Data said, “was Phlox.”

  “Yes, I changed my name a while back,” Sim said. “I knew that I had gained some notoriety in the Federation, and was looking to live out a quieter life. You’ve heard of me?”

  Heard of him! When I realized who he was, I had to stifle a gasp of recognition. Phlox was the doctor on the NX-01, the original U.S.S. Enterprise. But I’d momentarily forgotten that I was disguised as a Denobulan, and that a Denobulan might not be so well versed in the personnel on humanity’s first starship.

  “Yes,” I said, “you’re well known among scientists like us. You blazed a lot of trails.”

  “Oh, I think you exaggerate,” Phlox said. “But it’s nice to know I’m remembered back home.”

  I had so many questions I wanted to ask but held back—Data and I had almost blown our cover. Still, our companion’s identity only made the situation harder to accept. Everything I knew about Phlox, his compassion and scientific integrity, made it impossible for me to believe he would accept his people launching some kind of attack against the Federation. Yet if he did accept it, I couldn’t take the risk to reveal ourselves. I had to see the plan through.

  We arrived at the Denobulan system, and this was where my plan to be picked up by Phlox paid its greatest dividend: Phlox had a clearance code for his ship, and they let us enter the system with no difficulty. We approached the planet, passing the large artificial globe that hung in a wide orbit. It was a monstrosity. Its dark metal skin and vibrant internal energy seemed to confirm a malevolent purpose.

  Phlox took his ship to a landing pad on the planet. The entire Denobulan population was on one continent
, and when we landed the population density was startling, even at the spaceport. The Denobulans themselves seemed very comfortable with close physical proximity. It seemed many were returning home, receiving enthusiastic greetings from friends and family.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you,” Phlox said. “I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “We greatly appreciate you ‘giving us a lift,’ ” Data said. His inflection was stiff and unnatural, but Phlox laughed—he seemed to take it as a bit of humor. We went our separate ways.

  Data and I journeyed into the main city off the starport. In the sky above the city, even in daylight, the giant artificial globe was visible. It was incongruous to the sight of the city itself. The homes and buildings were close together, and Denobulans seemed in the midst of an extended celebration, singing, drinking, and enjoying each other’s company.

  “Is this what a warlike species looks like?” Data said.

  “Hardly, Mr. Data,” I said. “We have to get more information about what that device is. How much time do we have?”

  “The date the Denobulans originally gave is now three point seven three five days away.”

  Leyton would stick to the timeline he’d given me—he wasn’t going to wait past the deadline. It was imperative for him to destroy that device rather than risk it being used on the Federation. So Data and I had two days to get into our roles as Denobulans and hopefully find out something useful, and then get off the planet to intercept Leyton and his fleet.

  I was immediately overwhelmed by the general hospitality and openness of this species. The Denobulan culture was focused on family; they gave freely of shelter and food, and celebrated familial relations in a way I hadn’t seen on any other world. Men and women had multiple wives and husbands, and there were many children from those connections. It felt like a vibrant, advanced society where individuals were firmly connected to one another. My companion agreed with me.

  “It would seem,” Data said, “that Starfleet’s concern that the Denobulans have returned to their historic warlike period is unfounded.” We had just left a large meal with a Denobulan family, who had invited us in off the street.

  “Then why build a giant weapon?” I said. “And if it’s not a weapon, why hide its purpose with subspace interference?”

  “There is one possibility we have not considered,” Data said. “Perhaps the subspace interference is not intended to hide its function, but is just a necessary aspect of its function.”

  “A giant subspace transmitter? What would it be used for?”

  “You don’t know what it is?” The voice surprised both of us, and we turned to find ourselves facing a young Denobulan, probably ten years old. He had been at the dinner that we’d just enjoyed, and must have followed us out. Not sure what to do, I paused. Data did not.

  “No, we do not. Can you tell us?”

  “It’s a subspace engine,” he said. “Everybody knows that.” With that, the child scampered off.

  “A subspace engine?” I said. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  “They are theoretical,” Data said. “It has often been postulated that since we use subspace to send faster than light communication, it might also be used to transfer objects.”

  “We need more information,” I said, “and I’m afraid we’re going to have to take a bigger risk.”

  We set out, with the help of a directory, to find our way to Phlox’s home. When he answered the door, he looked genuinely pleased to see us. His home was filled with children and adults, and Phlox seemed intent on introducing us to all of them, including his son named Mettus. Eventually, I found a moment to take Phlox aside.

  “We need to talk to you alone about a matter of some urgency,” I said. He could see I was concerned and took us to a more private room.

  “What is the problem, Mettus?”

  I looked at Data, and I knew he had no idea what I was planning to do. Nor would he know how to give me any support for it even if he did.

  “I’m not Denobulan. I’m human. Captain Jean-Luc Picard from Starfleet.”

  “Really?” He started looking over my disguise. “Quite convincing…”

  “We came here to find out why your people have built a subspace engine,” I said. “Starfleet is greatly concerned.”

  “They have no need to worry,” Phlox said. “It was built to take Denobula and its sun away.”

  “ ‘Away’?”

  “Yes,” he said. “In a few days, it will generate a subspace field that will remove this entire system from our Galaxy, and transfer it into subspace.”

  It sounded incredible. I looked at Data, who nodded.

  “That is theoretically possible,” he said.

  I turned back to Phlox. “Why are you doing this?”

  “My people never recovered from the deaths caused by the great attack,” he said. He was referring to the attack on the planet that had occurred two hundred years before. “Three million Denobulans were killed; those deaths touched every family on the planet. We’ve seen the hostilities Starfleet has recently engaged in, with the Cardassians and the Tzenkethi, there was almost a war with the Klingons, and the Romulans still loom large. It is only a matter of time before our world is pulled into conflict again.”

  I couldn’t tell him how correct he was: Starfleet itself was planning an attack as we spoke.

  “So we are pulling ourselves from the Galaxy. Replicators give us everything we need. The effective radius of the engine will include our sun and the other bodies in the system. The invention has been tested; our scientists assure us our star system will survive in subspace. And we will survive in peace. But you, my friends, must leave, unless you wish to spend the rest of your lives here.”

  “That would be most intriguing,” Data said.

  “But not preferable,” I said. “Can you help us?”

  * * *

  “I don’t know that I can afford to trust this, Jean-Luc,” Leyton said. It was a day later, and I was on the bridge of the U.S.S. Excalibur, the lead ship in the fleet Leyton had assembled. We were a few light-years out from the Denobulan system, and Data and I were still in our disguises. Phlox had been able to get us to a spaceship, and we’d intercepted the fleet.

  “You have to trust this, Admiral,” I said.

  “It is not a weapon, sir,” Data said. Leyton looked at him; it was hard to argue with Data. “They have no harmful intent.”

  “Sir,” the ops officer said, “I’m reading a massive build-up in subspace interference.”

  Leyton looked at us, annoyed. We’d delayed him, and, in his mind, perhaps doomed him.

  “Shields up, red alert,” Leyton said. “All ships, stand by to—”

  Before he could finish, the ship was hit with a shockwave that knocked us all off our feet. Leyton and his conn officer crawled back to right the ship. Data helped me up. When we looked on the screen, I knew it was all over.

  “Message to all ships,” Leyton said. “Engage course to Denobula.”

  “Sir,” the conn officer said. “I can’t. It’s gone.”

  “What?”

  “The star, the planet, they’re not there.”

  I looked at Data and smiled. The Denobulans had got what they wanted, a universe without war. And as I watched Leyton, simmering with frustration that events hadn’t played out the way he’d expected, I knew such a universe would escape the rest of us—at least for a while.

  * * *

  Over the next few years, I found satisfaction in my job as a troubleshooter for Quinn. The work I was doing was active and engaging, and the desire to command a ship began to fade. Quinn seemed to have forgotten his promise to put me back in command, and in any event I felt I had made a transition to another career, maybe one I would find as satisfying as being a starship captain. I also took delight in being free from the confines of one ship; I’d been on the Stargazer for so long, I felt like I was discovering a whole new generation of people who�
��d come out of the academy and begun to make their mark on Starfleet and the Federation. And I found satisfaction in sharing my experience with them, acting as a kind of elder statesman.

  One such person I met while I was serving as interim commanding officer of Starbase 23. The old commander had unexpectedly passed away, and a new commander was en route, and since I was the most senior officer in the area, Quinn had me take over running the facility. Starbase 23 was a space station in a system with no Class-M planets, but one that did have an abundance of asteroids, on which the Starfleet Corps of Engineers had built mining facilities. Part of my duties were regular inspections of those asteroid facilities. One day, leaving for a round of these inspections, I had the shuttlebay officer of the deck assign me a pilot.

  When I showed up in the shuttle bay, the young officer greeted me. He wore an unusual device over his eyes, a gold visor made of a light metal. I introduced myself, and we shook hands.

  “Lieutenant Geordi La Forge,” he said.

  We were on a tight schedule, so I refrained from indulging my curiosity about his eyewear and we got on board. La Forge took the controls, and went down a complete checklist of all the shuttle’s systems. (I would’ve usually dispensed with this protocol, but this was a young officer trying to make an impression, so I let him go through with it.)

  On our short trip out to the asteroid, I found out a little bit about him. He was from Earth, had served on the Victory and was between assignments, so he volunteered for shuttle pilot duty. I decided to ask about his accessory.

  “It detects electromagnetic signals and transmits them to my brain,” Geordi said.

  “That sounds like a useful device,” I said.

  “Especially when you’re blind,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sir, I assumed you knew. I was born blind. The visor lets me ‘see,’ kind of.”

  The man piloting my shuttle was blind. It was at times like this I marveled at the age in which I lived that such a thing was in no way worrisome.

  We returned from the inspection of the first asteroid mining facility and parted company for the evening. I returned to the shuttlebay the next morning for my tour of the next asteroid facility. La Forge was already there, working on the shuttle. He looked very tired, and I asked him what he’d been doing.