by Brad
He spent some minutes stretching out, then set off at an easy pace. It was a hot summer afternoon, and soon his headband was soggy. He felt the air cooling the sweat on his face, arms, and legs. He began to tire, as he always did, and to feel an ache in his thighs. He ignored everything. Before long he gained his second wind. This was what he ran for: that wonderful moment when new strength came flooding into his weary legs, when it seemed he never had to stop but could just keep on running forever. He settled his stride into a comfortable, smooth, kilometer-eating pace and cleared his mind of everything but the pathway.
By the time Jean-Luc returned to the vineyard the back way, down the lane that divided the new land from the old, more than three hours had passed. The sun had already set, but a bright summer twilight lingered in the west. Jean-Luc estimated that he had run twenty kilometers or so, no marathon but a good solid workout anyway. He felt tired but happy. He slowed to a walk to cool down, and when he came to the chateau, he was breathing normally and all but glowing from his run.
Robert banged out of the house and came straight for him, his face dark with anger. Jean-Luc blinked at him, startled. “What—”
Robert pushed his shoulder hard, making him stagger back a step. “You ran away. You left me to deal with him. Why are you always the perfect one?” He shoved him again, so hard that Jean-Luc almost fell backward.
“Stop it,” Jean-Luc snapped. “I don’t even know what you’re upset about.”
“What do you think?" Robert charged him.
Jean-Luc, taken off guard, stumbled back and fell under his brother’s weight. “Come on!” grunted Robert. “Fight!”
Very well. Robert was trying to pin him down, as if they were in a wrestling match. But Jean-Luc’s arms were slick with sweat, and Robert couldn’t keep his hold. Jean-Luc squirmed enough to bend his leg, and he used Robert’s momentum to dip him over. Both of them scrambled up at once. Robert, heavier and more solid, lunged again. Jean-Luc, lighter and more agile, dodged him.
They circled, crouching. Robert feinted to the right, and Jean-Luc instinctively dodged, but Robert had planned the move well. He seized Jean-Luc in an expert half nelson and tried to force him to his knees.
Jean-Luc knew a way to break the hold, but it required both strength and quickness, and his run had left him tired. He pivoted, bent, and tried to throw Robert off him, but failed. Robert was grunting with effort now, pressing him toward the ground.
One last hope. Jean-Luc guessed where Robert’s feet were planted, set his right foot, and attempted a backward sweep with his left leg. He connected, and Robert toppled, losing his hold. But he was up again in an instant, charging forward to tackle Jean-Luc at the waist. The impact sent them both rolling on the ground.
Then suddenly their mother was there, yelling, “Stop this!” at the top of her lungs. She was usually so quiet that the shout had the effect of a gunshot. Both Jean-Luc and Robert froze in position, and then they rolled apart and got to their feet.
Yvette Picard was standing with her hands on her hips. Her eyes flashed with anger. “You two should be ashamed.”
Robert slapped some of the dirt from his trousers. “Good thing you stopped us,” he growled. “No doubt the wrestling champion would have beaten me senseless.” He turned and walked away, just as Maurice had walked away from the two brothers earlier that day.
Jean-Luc was panting for breath. Yvette scowled at him. “Are you all right?”
Jean-Luc nodded. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked. “I just came in, and he jumped me.”
“Walk with me,” Yvette said. They went behind the chateau, toward the ancient foundations of stables and outbuildings that once had been attached to the house. Twilight was deepening. Venus shone clear and bright in the west, a dazzling white point of light, and a few stars were beginning to appear. Yvette and Jean-Luc came to the old brick well, which Maurice had repaired. It was really only decorative, but it still worked. Yvette lowered the bucket by means of a sweep, a long lever arrangement right out of the Middle Ages. She brought the wooden bucket up dripping and said, “Here.”
Jean-Luc drank the cold water gratefully, slopping some of it down his front. He had long before emptied his water bottle, and the well water was refreshing and welcome, tasting of iron and the earth. “Thank you,” he said.
“Your father will win the Prix du Soleil this year. That means a great deal to him.”
“I know.”
Yvette went to a stone bench near the well. A trellis of roses grew beside it, and she sat beneath the flowers. After a moment she patted the bench. “Come and sit with me.”
Jean-Luc sank onto the stone seat. His muscles ached from his run and from the fight. The sweet, strong odor of roses was almost overpowering. “What’s wrong with Robert?” he asked.
“He had words with your father, of course,” Yvette answered with a sigh. “Do you understand why he’s so upset, Jean-Luc?”
“Because Father said he will bring him back from his trip early. But that’s not my fault.”
“That isn’t the reason.”
For a few minutes they sat in silence. The evening sky grew darker, and a meteorite traced a brilliant path across the heavens. “What’s the reason?” Jean-Luc asked eventually, as if they had been talking all along.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know, Mother.” Jean-Luc couldn’t keep all the sarcasm out of his voice. “What does Robert want from me? Doesn’t he know that I’ve given up my biggest dream to stay here on the vineyard with Father? Does he think I like this?”
“Your brother has his dreams, too,” Yvette said quietly. “Can’t you understand what they are, Jean-Luc?”
“To go to Alkalurops Beta Two and study viniculture. That’s what he says.”
“He says that because the truth hurts him.”
After another long pause Jean-Luc said slowly, “I always thought that Robert was just like Father. That he wanted to stay on the vineyard and manage it. That he wanted to win prizes for his wines.”
“I believe you’re right.”
“Well, what’s stopping him?” Jean-Luc asked angrily.
“You.”
The word hit Jean-Luc hard. He looked up at the sky. Another meteorite flashed, and another.
When he had been silent for a long time, Yvette said, “There are a lot of shooting stars tonight.”
“Starfleet did that,” Jean-Luc replied at once. “There was an asteroid in an orbit that threatened to crash it into Earth. Starfleet vaporized it last year. The meteorites are the tiny grains and particles that were left over from the explosion. We’ll have several meteor showers this summer.” Jean-Luc remembered something else.
“When they announced it on the news, someone said the season’s name should be changed this year from ‘summer’ to ‘starfall.’”
“Starfall. Not a bad name. Yes, now I remember hearing about that on the news.”
Jean-Luc’s mind was not on shooting stars. “Mother, what did you mean? I’m not stopping Robert. I wish he would take charge of the vineyard. I only want to—to be left out of it.”
“But that isn’t the way your father sees it,” Yvette told him. “Maurice has his dreams, too. You must understand, Jean-Luc, he is very proud of you. You’re the genius of the family. He believes you could do great things with the vineyard, wonderful things. That’s why he’s getting you ready to inherit it, to run it.”
“I don’t want to do that!”
“And Robert does,” Yvette reminded him. “That’s why he was fighting you. You have everything that Robert would like to have, and you don’t even want it. Robert sees you and knows how happy he would be in your place. That makes him angry.”
“It isn’t my fault.”
“No one said it was. Look! It’s like fireworks.”
Jean-Luc stared into the darkening sky. It was a riot of meteor trails, some dazzling tracks that lingered for seconds after the passage of the meteorites, some flickeri
ng traces of yellow or red. All he could think about was the Starfleet ship, just a small craft with a crew of five, that had destroyed the asteroid back in November. To the five crew members, that would have been a very routine mission, in Earth’s own backyard. Just something to take up a day or two, and then on to other things.
To Jean-Luc, it would have been the adventure of a lifetime.
Yvette said, “Your father and I will go to Paris next week for the awards ceremony. I think you should come along.”
“Why?”
His mother’s voice was soft. “It is important for a family to be together at times. Especially when one—or more—of the family will be leaving soon. Will you come along on the trip?”
Jean-Luc took a deep breath. He wondered if his mother had guessed what he had done. She certainly knew that he had spent late hours with the computer, that he read far into the night. He felt an urge to confess everything to her, to tell her that he had already applied to retest for the Academy. He wondered if he dared.
The sky went wild with a fall of stars.
CHAPTER
5
In the glare of a spotlight the master of ceremonies opened an envelope. “This year’s Grand Prix du Soleil is awarded by unanimous decision,” he read, “to…” The audience stirred as the man prolonged the wait. “To Maurice Picard for Picard Noir, vintage 2316.”
A thousand pairs of hands applauded. Maurice, his face red with pleasure, pushed back his chair and made a stiff bow, then moved to the lectern. Yvette, Robert, and Jean-Luc applauded him, though Jean-Luc was thinking how unusual his father looked in formal wear instead of farming clothes.
“Thank you,” Maurice murmured as the master of ceremonies slipped the red, white, and blue ribbon over his head. The gold medallion, a smiling sunface, blazed on his chest.
Maurice blinked into the light, smiling and nodding. When the applause had faded a bit, he cleared his throat and said, “Ladies, gentlemen of the Solar System Fine Wines Society, I thank you for this honor. I must also thank my sons, Robert and Jean-Luc—stand, boys.”
A spotlight found their table, and the two stood and received a round of applause. As they sat again, Maurice said, “I have no long speech, but I would like to say that this wonderful award only shows that one does not need a replicator, or any clanking machinery, to produce a fine vintage. Automation has no heart. A device of metal and wires is no substitute for the hard, honest labor of people who know and love their land and who understand their business. Thank you for this great honor. I hope Chateau Picard will continue to be worthy of it.” He waved to the applauding audience, then made his way back through a forest of well-wishers to the table.
“Congratulations, Father!” said Robert. He sounded as delighted as Maurice looked.
“A wonderful achievement, dear,” Yvette said, kissing her husband on the cheek.
“I’m pleased for you,” Jean-Luc murmured. Maurice gave him a keen look but said nothing. Two figures wound between the tables, and when they came close enough, Jean-Luc saw that they were his friend Louis and Louis’s father, Henri.
“Well, now I know one famous man,” Henri said, offering Maurice a hearty handshake. “I’m truly happy for you, my friend. In fact, I’m glad I let Louis talk me into coming here—I hate dressing in these ridiculous costumes.” Although Henri was a physician, he had a bluff, informal manner and an infectious laugh. “Well, Louis, are you going to stand there silent?”
“No, sir,” Louis said, grinning. “Congratulations Monsieur Picard.” He turned to Jean-Luc. “Things seem to be breaking up. Care to go for a walk with me?”
Jean-Luc looked at his father. Maurice nodded, and Jean-Luc rose from his place. “Here, Dr. Blanchard,” he said. “Take my chair. I’m sure you and Father want to talk.”
After the crowded hall, the street outside felt cool and looked deserted. Jean-Luc tugged at his tie, loosening it. “Don’t,” teased Louis. “You’ll spoil your dashing good looks.”
“I’m with your father,” Jean-Luc retorted. “A lot of old-fashioned foolishness, this formal dress.”
“Ah, well, you have to suffer to be handsome, you know.” They strolled toward the river. Paris, the City of Light, blazed brightly this June evening. After a few steps Louis asked, “Have you done it yet?”
“I haven’t tested for Starfleet Academy, if that’s what you mean. The July testing period was the first one open. I’m down for that. Now if I can only find some excuse to slip away from home for a week—”
“Oh, a poor schemer like you will never be able to do that,” Louis said, a light edge of sarcasm in his voice.
“Well, you may be interested to know that Misty and Kim Bloom will be in town tomorrow. Misty’s flying in from Melbourne tonight, and the three of us are going to meet for lunch to plan our cycle tour. Care to join us?”
“Sure,” Jean-Luc said, his mind on other things.
“It will be a late lunch,” warned Louis. “Misty will want to sleep later after her trip. Shall we say two o’clock?”
“Fine.”
“At the Café Robillard.” After a pause Louis said, “We expect to have fried butter bugs and caterpillar pudding. Maybe top it all off with mud pies.”
Jean-Luc stopped and turned, startled. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the Café Robillard,” Louis returned. “I just wasn’t sure you were listening.”
“Sorry. I was thinking of something else. Yes, I know the place. I’ll be there a little before two.” The Seine passed under them as they crossed an ancient arched stone bridge. The two friends paused halfway across to look at the river. The water below was black, but it reflected the shimmering glow of street lamps, the occasional streak of a meteor trail. “I look forward to tomorrow,” Jean-Luc said, “but for right now, come with me over to our hotel. Father and Mother have a round of parties to make. They won’t be coming back for hours, and I don’t want to sit around bored and alone. It’s early, and we can play a few hands of cards.”
“Not that horrible game you tried to teach me last month, I hope? I can’t even remember what it was called.”
“Six-pack bezique,” Jean-Luc said. “Yes, a few hands would be fun. Are you prepared to lose, Louis?"
Louis looked up into the dark night sky, where only a few stars shone, their light dimmed by the lights of Paris. “Oh, you fates,” he moaned in mock exasperation. “Why did you make me the best friend of a cardsharp?”
Lunch the next day was very pleasant. Misty Bloom was very nearly a duplicate of her sister, only with more freckles. She didn’t talk as much, either, but she had a quick wit and a devastating way of taking the wind out of Louis’s sails when he got too lively.
“You would have loved Medlab,” Kim said to her sister. “It’s practically a city in the sea.”
“Sounds like that ancient poem,” Misty said. “Who wrote it? Poe?”
“I thought he was a horror writer,” Louis said. “Believe me, there’s nothing horrible about Medlab.”
“Except swimming down to it,” Jean-Luc said as he finished the last bite of a delicious French pastry. “Misty, Louis here is perfectly equipped to be a great marine scientist except for one small thing. He swims like a brick!”
Louis laughed and shrugged. “What can I say? It’s true. But you know, that doesn’t seem to matter. I’ve found the place where I belong.”
“At the bottom of the ocean?” asked Misty with an encouraging smile.
“That’s where it happens to be,” Louis replied, his voice suddenly serious. “Oh, I might wish it were elsewhere, but it isn’t. And if I have to swim down to the bottom to find my dream, why then, I’ll swim. It’s worth it, you know.”
Misty touched his hand. “I know,” she said. “I feel the same way. The first time I opened a computer and saw the positronic circuits humming away, I fell in love. Kim here thinks I’m crazy to go into some indoor field. She’d rather be out on the range any day. But I
agree with you. The dream’s worth it.”
Kim shook her head. “When did I ever say you were crazy?” She turned to Jean-Luc. “When we were kids, Misty was the one who learned to ride a horse, shear a sheep, and plow a furrow. I always wanted to be inside then. But I supposed we’ve traded places this last year. Now I want to be an ecologist, and she’s the one stuck indoors.”
Louis filled all their glasses from a large green bottle of sparkling water. “Well, we all have dreams to chase,” he said. “A toast: May we all catch our dreams one fine day!”
They clinked glasses, but Jean-Luc drank to the toast without a smile.
Later, when Louis proposed taking the girls on a tour of the historic sites of Paris, Jean-Luc begged off. Louis didn’t seem to mind. He strolled away between the two sisters, both of them talking a hundred kilometers a second.
Jean-Luc watched them go. He was thoughtful and a little afraid. That morning his father had spoken about his own plans for the next few weeks, and to Jean-Luc’s delight, they gave him exactly the opening he had wanted.
Now, if he only dared to chase his dream—
If he only dared.
A few days later Robert and Jean-Luc flew their father into LaBarre, where he would take a connecting shuttle to the London trans-Atlantic transport. He grumbled during the short aircar flight into the city, he grumbled while they checked the time of departure, and he grumbled while they waited for the call to board the shuttle.
“Two weeks in California,” he growled. “Wonderful. I’ll get to visit all sorts of vineyards that are as automated as factories!”
“Cheer up, Father,” Robert said with a grin. “As the winner of the Prix du Soleil, you’re supposed to give seminars for other winegrowers. Who knows? You might even teach them a thing or two.”
“Not that bunch of replicating, machine-crazy technologists,” retorted Maurice. “I know their type too well. They never have time to do things properly. To them farming is all glitter and machinery, and no heart. Some of them think that the swill they get from replicators is just as good as fine vintage port.” He sighed. “Well, Jean-Luc, at least this will be good practice for you. I leave you in charge. All decisions are in your hands. This will help you see what life will be like when your brother deserts us.”