A Time to Sow

by Dayton Ward

  Picard nodded, resisting the urge to smile at the counselor’s confusion. “The Vulcan Science Academy spent several months analyzing data retrieved from the first probe. They concluded that the planetary disaster described by First Minister Zahanzei occurred decades before the first probe’s discovery, and well before Starfleet possessed any sort of deep-space exploration capability. The Vulcans advised against sending a ship to investigate, and the matter was closed.”

  “Earth was taking a lot of advice from the Vulcans in those days,” said Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge, “but it’s hard to believe that anyone in Starfleet could resist the urge to find out where that probe had come from. It sounds like just the mission to give to one of those first long-range ships.”

  Seated next to La Forge, Lieutenant Commander Data replied, “It was a very active, almost chaotic, period in Earth history, Geordi. With only a single vessel of sufficient capability available for such a task, Starfleet’s priorities did not allow for a mission of extended duration at that time. By the time such resources were available, Earth found itself embroiled in conflicts with both the Xindi and the Romulans.”

  In response to the android’s words, Picard could not help but glance to the rear wall of the observation lounge and its array of replicas portraying the lineage of starships named Enterprise dating back more than two centuries. Grimly, he reminded himself that in addition to the promise of peaceful exploration, the replicas also represented decades of conflict, both victorious and damaging.

  Picard almost smiled as he watched the exchange between the two colleagues. Even in the face of what was shaping up to be little more than a milk run, La Forge and Data were trading information both relevant and trivial, just as they would if they were attempting to solve a looming crisis. Some things will never change.

  “Once the Federation was founded,” he said, “and with a whole host of new friends, to say nothing of enemies, Starfleet’s charter and mission initiatives took them in other directions. After a time, verifying the fate of a single planet which was already believed destroyed for years was lost in the shuffle of larger concerns.”

  A student of history, Picard was intimately familiar with that period in Earth’s evolution from a single civilization to one of the founding parties of what was now a Federation of more than one hundred fifty worlds. Such a feat, carried out in the space of little more than two centuries and accompanied by all manner of ancillary accomplishments and setbacks along the way, would have been more than enough to obscure any desire to investigate the presumed destruction of one planet.

  Leaning forward in his chair until his forearms rested on the conference table, Riker said, “I don’t understand. If there’s nothing we can do for these people, then why show us the message at all?”

  “It seems,” Picard replied, “that Starfleet Command wishes us to chart the area of space where the probes are believed to have originated, and see if we can determine what exactly happened to the Dokaalan and their world.”

  “Sir,” said Lieutenant Christine Vale, the Enterprise’s security chief, from where she sat at the far end of the table, “wouldn’t an actual science ship be better equipped for such an assignment?”

  Tugging on the lower edge of his uniform jacket, Picard replied, “Perhaps, Lieutenant, but Admiral Nechayev believes that under the current circumstances, the Enterprise is the perfect ship to head up this mission.”

  A bitter aftertaste remained even as he spoke the words, but Picard vowed he would reveal none of that irritation or disappointment to his subordinates. Vale’s point about sending a science vessel in search of the Dokaalan was a valid observation, but there was also the simple matter that no science vessel, or captain of same, was currently believed to be a hindrance to Starfleet.

  The recent confrontation with the demon ship at the Rashanar Battle Site, as well as the annihilation of the U.S.S. Juno and several Ontailian warships, was still fresh in many people’s minds, particularly Picard’s. There were those in Starfleet, many of whom he once had called friends, who believed that his best days as a starship captain were behind him. It did not soothe his emotions to know that the perception was one manufactured to preserve the dignity of the Ontailian government in the face of their own missteps during the incident.

  A valuable ally to the Federation in the current post–Dominion War reality, the Ontailians could ill afford a political incident within their own society. Such a disruption might cause them to withdraw their Federation membership, an option viewed by many on both sides as highly undesirable. The only way to ensure the stability of the Ontailian government was to make certain that blame for the demon ship incident was directed elsewhere.

  In this case, that meant Picard. Though officially cleared of culpability for the loss of the Juno and the Ontailian ships, so far as the public and Starfleet were concerned, the captain had nonetheless committed a grave error. Many within Starfleet were asking whether Picard had finally begun to succumb in the face of the numerous traumatic experiences he had suffered over the length of his career. Was he still up to the task of commanding a starship, much less the vessel carrying the most renowned name in Starfleet history?

  Despite the confusion, resentment, and even outright anger with which some officers in the highest echelons of Starfleet viewed him, Picard had managed to find an unlikely ally in the persona of Admiral Alynna Nechayev. It was she who ultimately had submitted the recommendation that, given the political and strategic challenges facing the Federation, an officer of Picard’s experience and talents could not be dismissed from Starfleet so long as he was willing and able to serve. To Picard, the admiral’s support had come as a near total surprise.

  Picard and Nechayev had clashed more than once over the years, particularly in his handling of the lone Borg his crew had recovered nearly a decade ago, and with it, the discovery of a possible way to destroy the entire Borg Collective in one fell swoop. He had been unwilling to unleash what he considered a genocidal tactic, even on the Federation’s most formidable enemy, and that decision had invoked Nechayev’s wrath. The Enterprise captain had weathered that storm as well as several others that followed, and a mutual grudging respect had developed along the way, with each officer knowing that Starfleet was better off with the other than without.

  Though a Starfleet tribunal already had ruled on Picard’s actions with respect to the loss of the Juno and the damage done to relations with the Ontailians, temporary though that might have been, Nechayev had taken it upon herself to watch over Picard and the Enterprise. First, she had given them the chance to prove the existence of the demon ship and clear their names. With that issue laid to rest, there remained the much larger burden of giving Picard some needed breathing space and keeping him from becoming embroiled in any other potentially volatile political situations for the time being.

  Sitting across from Counselor Troi, Dr. Beverly Crusher said, “What you mean is that Starfleet isn’t sure what to do with us, so they’re shuffling us out of the way to avoid any more embarrassment while they figure out a plan.”

  There was no mistaking the torque of the doctor’s delicate jaw or the disgust clouding her dark blue eyes, and though he was tempted to admonish her for the comment, Picard refrained. Crusher, along with the entire ship’s complement, was frustrated at the chain of events to this point. They deserved to blow off a bit of steam now and then. Better to do it here, among the privileged company of trusted friends, than elsewhere on the ship where subordinates already battling damaged morale might hear them.

  “Admiral Nechayev believes that by assigning the Enterprise to this mission,” Picard said, “her crew and most especially her captain will possibly avoid further controversy for at least a while. Therefore, that is exactly what we shall do.” Turning to Data, he asked, “Commander, how long to reach Dokaalan space?”

  “At warp eight,” the android replied, “we will arrive at the Dokaalan system in twenty-six days, eleven hours, and forty-seven minutes. T
hat estimate is based on long-range sensor data obtained from an unmanned exploratory probe sent to chart that region of space sixty-three years ago. Though incomplete, the data suggests…”

  “Thank you, Commander,” Picard said, circumventing an oration that, while no doubt informative, could conceivably take most of the time the Enterprise would spend traveling to its intended destination.

  “Though this is supposed to be a low-risk assignment,” Riker said, “we’re still traveling to a sector that’s largely unexplored. I don’t think we should go in unprepared.”

  At the far end of the table, Vale said, “I agree, sir. With your permission, I’d like to conduct a series of scheduled and surprise security drills, as well as request a level-one diagnostic of all defensive systems.”

  “No problem there,” La Forge replied. “My people will need something to do, too.”

  Picard nodded to the security chief. “Make it so. I leave the details to your discretion, Lieutenant.” Turning to Riker and Troi, he said, “Given the length of time it will take us to reach the Dokaalan system, I want you to organize a duty roster that allows for reduced shift rotations for the entire crew. Given recent events, I want them to enjoy as much leisure time as possible.” Nodding in Vale’s direction and with a small smile, he added, “Feel free to factor in any of the lieutenant’s surprise security drills you see fit, however. We wouldn’t want to lose our edge, after all.”

  With a mischievous grin of his own, Riker replied, “Aye, sir.”

  Before saying anything else, Picard took a moment to regard those sitting around the table, each looking expectantly to him for direction.

  Riker, his loyal second-in-command, who during his own career had done almost as much in the name of protecting the Federation way of life as had Picard himself.

  Troi, reading him in her own unique way, knowing more about him than anyone ever could.

  Beverly, her stately countenance softened slightly with age and yet still consumed by the same drive and passion he had always seen in her.

  Data, who even after all these years and without the emotion chip he had been forced to surrender to Starfleet, still managed to convey the sense of wonderment of a precocious child.

  La Forge, who possessed a clarity of vision that far exceeded even that provided by his artificial eyes.

  Though she had not been a member of the crew for as long as the others, Vale had taken little time to demonstrate her talents and potential. In similar fashion, she had proven herself worthy of those who had preceded her as Enterprise security chief, carving herself a position of respect among the rest of the senior staff.

  Shipmates, trusted advisors, valued friends. Picard knew that these six individuals, and by extension every person on the ship, would follow wherever he might lead them. While he could learn to accept how outsiders viewed him, it angered him that his crew could be treated as the pariahs many now believed them to be. Regardless of all they had accomplished over the years, despite the very real debt Starfleet and the Federation itself owed this ship and her crew, they had been sent away in the name of political expediency, no longer considered worthy of the esteem Picard believed they had rightfully earned long ago.

  You will regain the respect taken from you, he vowed silently to his shipmates. If it takes the rest of my days, I will see to that.

  When no one responded to his query for further questions and Picard dismissed the staff, only Riker remained, much as the captain expected he would. He recognized the way his first officer’s shoulders tensed when he had something to say yet was waiting until the appropriate time. Despite the close friendship they had cultivated over the years, ingrained protocol and discipline would always prevent William Riker from speaking freely until any subordinates were out of earshot.

  Watching his first officer waiting for the room to clear, Picard noted the touch of gray peppering the man’s temples. The badge of maturity seemed at odds with his clean-shaven face, which gave the commander a look of youthful innocence both men knew had been left behind long ago.

  “So we’re not really out of the doghouse just yet, are we?” Riker finally asked once the doors to the conference lounge had closed. “They’re going to just shuffle us from one meaningless assignment to another?” He rose from his seat and began to pace the length of the conference room. Watching him move back and forth, Picard realized that without his beard to hide the lines of his face, it was easy to see how frustrated Riker was by the visible clenching of his jaw.

  Settling back in his chair, Picard replied, “I believe the preferred term is ‘low-priority mission,’ Number One.”

  His delivery was just deadpan enough to elicit the desired response, that of catching his first officer momentarily off guard before he noticed Picard’s teasing smile. Riker laughed in spite of the frustration he was obviously feeling.

  “This isn’t like when they sent us to the Neutral Zone during the Borg invasion,” Riker said. “At least then I could understand their reasons, even if I didn’t agree with them.”

  Picard found himself concurring with that. His previous capture and assimilation by the Borg during their first attack on the Federation twelve years earlier had given the collective all the information needed to cut a destructive swath through Federation space and right to humanity’s doorstep. Only Data’s skill and Picard’s own force of will, battered into near-total submission by the Borg’s invasive procedures besieging his mind and body, had prevented Earth from being crushed by perhaps the most formidable oppressor ever known.

  Many were certain that Picard had suffered irreparable harm at the hands of his captors. Still others, notably those who had studied every piece of information about the Borg and any scrap of technology salvaged from the wreckage of that first enemy vessel, believed the Enterprise captain might still retain vestiges of a connection to the collective. The risk of his becoming a liability or, worse yet, a weapon for the Borg in the event of a future invasion attempt was too great to ignore.

  Accordingly, when the Borg had sent a second massive cube-shaped vessel on a direct attack course for Earth seven years later, the newly commissioned Enterprise, NCC-1701-E, had been sent away from the conflict. As it turned out, Picard had indeed retained a visceral link to the collective, a revelation he had used to his advantage after defying orders and joining the fight, eventually aiding in the destruction of the second Borg ship.

  “This is different,” Riker continued, stopping his pacing and turning to lock eyes with his captain. “To treat us this way after everything we’ve done? After everything you’ve done?”

  “We’re serving a larger purpose, Number One,” Picard replied, hoping to convince himself as much as his first officer. “At least until the situation with the Ontailians is stabilized, Admiral Nechayev feels that assigning us to these types of missions will help minimize our impact to an already volatile state of affairs.”

  After the truth of the captain’s actions surrounding the demon ship was revealed, Starfleet Command had no choice. Despite the belief held by many in those corridors of power that Picard himself should relinquish command, his forcible removal was not an option.

  However, the unusual request of the Ontailians had put Starfleet in a quandary. In order to preserve their ally’s political stability, it would have to appear that Picard was receiving some form of sanction. Though all of the Enterprise crew knew the truth, for which Picard was thankful, the majority of those serving in Starfleet did not.

  “Well, if they want to give us milk runs,” Riker said, “then we’ll just have to log the best damn milk runs they’ve ever seen, won’t we?” Smiling, he straightened his posture in the manner that told Picard the first officer would carry out his duties on this assignment as he would on any other mission, not that the captain needed such confirmation, of course.

  Riker took his leave and returned to the bridge, leaving Picard alone in the conference lounge. Turning in his chair to face the line of viewports forming the room’s r
ear wall, he allowed himself several minutes of quiet, watching stars streaking past as the Enterprise warped toward uncharted space. Ordinarily it was a view that soothed him, but not today. Unlike other occasions, when he might take satisfaction that he and his vessel were heading where none had traveled before, this time was different. Instead, they were running away, retreating as an unruly child might flee the gaze of an admonishing parent.

  As he swiveled away from the windows, his eyes once again caught the display of ships on the lounge’s rear wall. Studying them, Picard found himself unable to resist dwelling on the history his vessel shared with those depicted on the wall before him. Individually, each ship’s captain had enjoyed triumphs and suffered adversities that rivaled and even surpassed his own. Together, they had woven one of Starfleet’s most enduring legends.

  Had his actions, either those he had actually perpetrated or others perhaps destined to be recorded for posterity, sullied that history? If so, was such damage beyond repair?

  No, he decided. I refuse to accept that.

  Alone and in the privacy of his own thoughts, however, Picard could not help noting a disturbing lack of conviction.

  Chapter Four

  Translated from the personal journal of Hjatyn:

  THINGS ARE getting worse.

  We see only the news feeds from Dokaal now. They are constant, transmitting on all channels. Many have quit reporting for their assigned shifts, be they miners or workers in any of the support sections, and have instead taken to congregating in the public recreation areas to watch the feeds for hours on end. Still others have simply retreated to their private quarters, as if trying to find a place of safety.

  Beeliq is one of the few who are trying to maintain some type of normalcy. She continues to carry out her duties at the colony administrator’s office, while I try to persevere with my classes. School has been all but canceled, though, and we sit with our students and watch the reports coming from the homeworld.