Career Decisions
by Ron Richard
(Part 1 of 3)
(The following story takes place five years after the events in ST:Nemesis)
�Wheeeeeeee . . . EEEEEEEEEEE . . . HO!�
The piercing sound of the ancient Bosun�s whistle penetrated to every corner of the Ward Room. The several dozen dress-uniformed personnel quickly ceased their various conversations and turned their eyes to the dais, which was overflowing with Starfleet brass. The never-to-get-old sight of Earth from orbit filled the windows behind them.
�Attention to orders!� bellowed a young Commander, the lowest ranking officer on the platform. She handed a Padd to a Captain who was somehow managing to look bold, confident and dashing and, at the same time, frightened, timid and embarrassed.
Picard stood slightly behind him and scrutinized the four stripes on the man�s sleeve as he took the Padd. Starfleet had, for the umpteenth time, changed uniform styles yet again. Old-time officers refer to the unending search for the perfect uniform as, �The Not Quite Final Frontier.� He was glad to see bloused trousers were back in use.
�To Captain Geoffrey Thorpe, Commanding Officer U.S.S Albatross, Stardate 61838.5.� Thorpe was doing his best to appear dignified, but despite his splendid record, he couldn�t but feel extremely intimidated by present company. He continued his soliloquy. �You are Hereby Requested and Required to take command of NCC-1701E, Federation Starship Enterprise as of this date. Signed, Vice-Admiral Kathryn Janeway, Starfleet Command.�
Picard stepped forward and his stentorian voice announced, �Computer, transfer all command codes to Captain Geoffrey Thorpe, voice authorization, Picard, Epsilon Six.�
The main computer�s timeless voice answered, almost sadly, �Transfer complete. U.S.S Enterprise now under command of Captain Geoffrey Thorpe.�
The young man offered his hand to the old man. �I relieve you, Sir.�
�I stand relieved.� The old man returned the firm grip and looked his successor in the eye. In the eternity that passed, (precisely zero point six eight seconds) Thorpe read in Picard�s final gaze: support, trust, envy, pride, relief, sadness and the threat of annihilation if he ever failed to treat Enterprise like a lady.
The eternity ended. They parted hands.
�Dismissed.�
The other officers in the room began vying for position to shake hands with their new and old Captains. Admiral Janeway naturally took the point.
�Congratulations, Captain Thorpe. I have to admit to being a closet follower of your career, just like everyone else in the Federation. Stories of your exploits make for . . . gripping reading. Your boarding and taking control of the Breen frigate at the Battle of Minos Korva was quite brilliant. This promotion is well deserved, sir.�
�Thank you, Admiral. I�ve been extremely lucky over the years.�
�And extremely modest. But I daresay even the legendary Captain Thorpe will have some big shoes to fill on this ship.�
�No doubt, Admiral. All I can do is take over for Captain Picard. I could never replace him.�
As Picard watched and only half listened to the torrent of praise being indirectly thrown his way by the two officers, he began to wish the festivities were over. Compliments made him uncomfortable these days. As he saw the crowd of expectant faces peering his way, he realized with a mental sigh that there were a lot of hands to shake before he could work his way to the door. He was examining the intervening ground, planning his attack strategy, when he was outflanked.
�Congratulations, Jean-Luc. Sixty-three years of Starfleet service; over twenty of those in command of the Federation Flagship.�
Picard accepted Janeway�s handshake with a smile. �Thank you, Admiral. It was a remarkable experience.�
The two chatted about fabulous interstellar adventures and made it sound like small talk. The subject turned to Janeway�s record of being the youngest officer in Starfleet history to reach her rank. Her expression acquired just a touch of seriousness. �Tell me something, you must have been offered promotion countless times over the years. Why did you never accept?� The Admiral�s question would have been a bit too direct, coming from anyone else. Her natural charm made it acceptable.
�A very knowledgeable person once told me not to let them promote me.�
�And who was that?�
�Captain James T. Kirk, in fact,� Picard replied with a glint in his eye.
The Admiral�s expression remained deadpan. �Indeed. You know, I once flew on a homemade glider with Leonardo DaVinci.�
�Touch�, Admiral.�
�Well, once again, congratulations on your retirement.�
This time, Picard�s expression hardened slightly. �I may be retiring from Starfleet, Admiral, but I won�t exactly be confined to a porch swing.�
�Of course, Ambassador to the Dominion. That�s quite a change of career. I heard that Ambassador Satalk is going back to Vulcan to uh, what was it; spend more time with his family? The rumor I�ve heard is that it�s a late life recurrence of Pon Farr. When do you leave?�
Picard started getting uncomfortable again and he fidgeted. �Ahh, tomorrow, the sloop departs for Starbase 375 for a final briefing, then a day�s travel to the Bajoran system. A quick trip through the wormhole, then I gain a Dominion escort at New Bajor for the final leg to the embassy on Tamaran, in the Gamma Quadrant; a long way from home. Of course you would know all about being on the other side of the Galaxy, wouldn�t you, Admiral?�
Janeway flashed her famous smile and replied, �The Delta and Gamma Quadrants are very different places, Jean-Luc. I hope you don�t run into as many problems. Good luck, Captain . . . I�m sorry, I mean Mister Picard.�
The last person to call him that had been his old mentor, Professor Galen. He had considered resigning back then. This time it was already done and real. The transfer of command was Jean-Luc�s last official act. His retirement would become official at 1800 hours today. As of that time, he would cease to be a member of Starfleet and become an official representative of the Federation Diplomatic Corps.
Forty minutes later, Picard had already spoken to more people than he would have thought the Ward Room would hold. They must be shuffling officers in and out; providing Picard with an infinite number of appendages to shake. There were Captains and Commanders; Counselors and caterers. Will and Deanna were there; Captain LaForge, Captain Vigo, Captain Shelby, Commander Barclay and a host of other officers that Picard had served with at one time or another.
He had made it about two thirds of the way through the room. The door was in sight. The hoped-for break in conversation that he had been waiting for occurred. His opportunity to make a run for it was at hand. He was betrayed by his own hesitation, however. The once-in-a-lifetime sight of Geordi LaForge, Reg Barclay, Miles O�Brien and Montgomery Scott talking transwarp theory was too fascinating to pass up. If he hadn�t taken the few seconds to view this historic sight, he might have made it out the door and into his new life. But, in one of those focal points in time that one always hears of, his destiny changed radically.
�Leaving so soon, Jean-Luc?
�Beverly.�
* * * * * * * * *
Enterprise slipped into warp smoother than any other ship in the fleet. That was the official opinion of one of the best warp field engineers in Starfleet. That it belonged to Chief Engineer Commander Geordi LaForge of the Starship Enterprise was completely unrelated. He was monitoring the engine power readouts as she came up to speed and caught his reflection in the panel. This wasn�t the first time in the last hour he caught himself grinning like an ape. It was good to be getting back to exploration, again.
Captain Picard had announced over the com that Enterprise was on her way to the distant Lynaran Sector. An unmanned Federation deep space probe called Cook 9 had reported some disturbing findings. The probe had scanned several dozen systems on the fringes of a star desert. There were a total of thirteen planetary bodies catalogued as �showing evidence of intelligent habitation.� The probe�s sensors could detect no subspace signals or generated energy anywhere in the region, however. The planets in question were emissions quiet and no other ships were in the area. Cook�s onboard artificial intelligence then made the decision to penetrate further into unknown space. The star desert was crossed and the Lynaran Sector lay beyond.
For an unknown reason, contact was abruptly lost. It was theorized that the probe encountered an ion storm, which is not uncommon in densely packed stellar regions. The technicians back at Deep Space Four who were monitoring the probe�s telemetry relayed the information to Starfleet Command. Multiple attempts were made to re-establish contact, but Cook 9 stayed forever silent.
Analysis showed the general area that the probe had been headed towards to be densely populated with stable G-type stars. The potential for Class M planets was thought to be high. Enterprise was to make the first manned survey of the area and, as always, to seek out new life and new civilizations. It was a mission close to Geordi�s heart and a very appropriate way to say good-bye to all this.
*********
Picard had hoped to avoid this, although subconsciously he had known it was inevitable. As though they had been directed on a stage, both he and Beverly said in unison, and completely untruthfully, �I was just coming to congratulate you.�
�I�m sorry.� �After you.�
After two or three rounds of mutual polite deferment, the floor was finally granted to Jean-Luc.
�How�s the fitting-out proceeding?�
Beverly�s expression seemed to indicate that she had expected a different question, but after a moment, she pulled it together.
�Um, just waiting for the shield grid calibration. As you know, multi-phasics can be cranky.�
�I understand the Mercy�s transporters can operate even through intense areas of gravimetric distortion.�
Beverly responded with a touch of pride, �And radiation fields. There are still a lot of former battle sites with dangerous areas of antimatter radiation and even undetonated warheads floating around. With Federation shipping increasing all the time, someone�s always drifting into somewhere they don�t belong. Mercy has to be able to respond anywhere. She�s designed as a rescue ship.�
�An ambulance,� Picard replied, remaining stoic.
�Nightingale-class ships are a bit more sophisticated than that.� Beverly�s voice began to rise in pitch. �She has full hospital facilities capable of handling over thirty trauma patients, each with full bio-bed support. She can operate in dark matter nebulae and spatial anomaly fields. She can deploy anywhere within twenty light years in under a day. As far as speed, Mercy could run circles around this bucket that you used to command ...�
Jean-Luc�s eyes glistened with success at the trap that he had laid. Beverly realized that he had baited her and she had fallen for it.
�Very funny. I guess I�m a bit preoccupied with all the hustle and bustle lately.�
Picard smiled. �I know very well what you�re going through. Twenty years ago I was doing much the same thing.�
Beverly straightened ever so slightly, �Well, Mercy isn�t the Flagship, but she�s . . .�
�Yours.�
Captain Crusher couldn�t deny that, but somehow it seemed inappropriate to acknowledge it, given recent events. Instead, she went on a different tack.
�Jean-Luc, I want you to know that . . .�
* * * * * * * * *
The last few years had been anything but uneventful, but the majority of the ship�s assignments were relief missions. The Dominion War had left dozens of bases and colonies, even entire worlds scarred and damaged. Infrastructure taken for granted for decades or even centuries had to be redesigned and replaced. A large part of Geordi�s work on the Enterprise over the past few years had been supervising the installation of industrial replication technology on several battle damaged planets so they could rebuild. It was satisfying work. LaForge always felt uncomfortable in the presence of damaged machinery. Even as a child, blind and all, he couldn�t help fixing his toys when they broke. Leaving a functional colony behind him felt good, but there was always another on the spatial horizon.
Now it was ten years since the end of the war. The Federation was stable. The Romulan Alliance was holding. There had been no Borg sightings since the return of Voyager. Even the Breen Confederacy was an accepted member of the interstellar community, if not the Federation. It had been a difficult recovery, but at last there was relative peace in the Alpha Quadrant. It was time to explore, again.
* * * * * * * * *
�Jean-Luc, I want you to know that . . . if it hadn�t been for . . . I mean, without you, I wouldn�t have . . . couldn�t have . . . What I mean is, well . . .�
Beverly went to evasive maneuvers and incorporated a light-hearted tone to her voice, �Everything I know about command I learned from Jean-Luc Picard. My promotion is because of you.�
Picard heard a hundred shades of meaning in every hesitation. His close relationship with Beverly over the years allowed him to read her every nuance. He knew exactly what she was actually . . . Mon Dieu, Jean-Luc, can you still be such a fool even at this age? Remember Kesprytt III? Remember the Drakans? You should have learned by now to steer well clear of such assumptions. You think you know what Beverly is thinking? Go ahead, Jean-Luc. Open your mouth and spew out some platitude that will do nothing but enrage her and embarrass you. Think first. THINK!
�No, Beverly. This is because of you. It was your quick thinking, your expertise that saved the day. You know that, I know that, and most importantly, Starfleet Command knows that.� Good recovery. She can�t deny official computer records. �Although I�m not sure they know how to use the assets they have.� Yellow alert, Jean-Luc, don�t blurt anything out. Just because it�s your opinion doesn�t mean you have to say it out loud.
�What do you mean?� There was the minutest edge to her voice.
Her shields are going up. But she really needs to reconsider this decision. I�m sure Beverly would appreciate some objective advice from me . . .
�Beverly, not to put too fine a point on it, but . . .� Her nostrils are flaring. She�s charging weapons! Must reverse course before it�s too late . . .
�You were once head of Starfleet Medical.�
Too late . . .
�And now . . . ?�
Red Alert! Red Alert! Mouth control has been compromised! One hundred and eighty degrees, hard about!
�And now you�re doing exactly what you want to be doing.� Control re-established, Captain. The ship has been thrown clear . . . �Congratulations, Captain. I�m envious.� A lie.
Beverly secured from General Quarters and took his hand. �Congratulations yourself, Ambassador. This is quite a feather in your cap. What�s next, the Federation Council?�
A stalemate. The battle avoided due to Mutual Assured Destruction.
�Believe me, this job is quite challenging enough. The Vorta will be difficult to deal with. It�s the genetically designed superiority trait. It will make it difficult to . . . but I learned that from the woman now approaching with her husband . . . Deanna, Will.�
The graceful Betazoid was skillfully navigating the crowd with her characteristic bouncing gait. Captain Riker followed, looking like a steam locomotive plowing through a herd of bison.
�Captain . . .�
�Captain . . .�
�Captain . . .�
�Captain . . .�
Deanna was the one to put a stop to it. �All right, enough already. Starfleet formality is for officers who just serve together.�
Picard spoke up. �I couldn�t agree more. We�re among family here. Deanna, I was just telling Beverly what you once told me about the Vorta . . .�
* * * * * * * * *
The area specified in the mission orders was on the outer edge of the distant Kinjari Arm of the galaxy. Its relative nearness (15,000 light years) to Shapely Center made it densely packed with star systems. The area where was the Federation probe was last heard from was in open space almost half a light year from the nearest star. There was no trace of Cook, other ships, or anything else of interest.
The first two weeks of the survey were disturbing, but intriguing. Cook 9�s report was correct. There were several star systems between the outer fringes of explored space and Lynara that had once been inhabited by intelligent beings. There were the remains of cities and roads on some of the planets. Others had been so reclaimed by the local ecosystems as to make it difficult to even find any ruins at all above ground. Enterprise�s sociologists and archaeologists dated some of the civilizations to be well over twenty-five million years old. Others had been extinct for a mere few hundred thousand. On some of the planets with younger extinct cultures, the environment was still contaminated with nuclear and antimatter waste that had gone untended over the centuries after the builders had long since departed into oblivion.
Apparently, all these species of intelligent beings, humanoid and non alike, died out sometime over the last thirty million years, although not all at the same time. Experts would say this is not unusual at all. Life is hard in the galaxy and is by no means guaranteed to last.
The curious item though, the one to buck the odds, was the fact that apparently thirteen civilizations spread out over half a sector all died out not at the same time, but at the same stage of development. Analysis showed that each culture had achieved warp drive and shortly thereafter, became extinct.
Several teams of archaeologists remained behind for voluntary extended field research, while the ship continued on the path of the still missing Cook 9. The star desert was crossed quickly. The Kinjari Arm stretched across the forward viewscreen like a band of diamonds.
*********
Riker hadn�t changed. He had a few years under his belt as a starship captain now, but still wasn�t exactly a people person. He was easy going and quick with a joke with someone he liked. Someone he didn�t was still treated rudely. Starfleet tended to steer him away from diplomatic missions ever since he yelled at the Romulan Proconsul. Deanna had managed to soften him a bit, though.
�Well Jean-Luc, the Federation could have done worse. The Dominion needs a tough ambassador, and you�re tougher than any Vulcan I ever met. Good luck . . . and say hello to the wormhole aliens on your way to the Gamma Quadrant.� Riker shook Picard�s hand.
Deanna said, �Yes, they say that in the Celestial Temple, there are infinite paths to take, but only the Prophets know the correct one.� She kissed Picard on the cheek, �Good-bye. Be well.�
As the two retreated, Picard perused Deanna�s posterior. He always did find it fascinating. He knew that, as an empath, she was aware of his interest. But then all Betazoids knew what others thought of them. She was well aware that a good many crewmembers had found her sexually attractive, including the Captain. Her senses told her it was harmless though, and in no way interfered with his duties.
Picard�s many years as a ship captain had denied him the right to pursue any relationship with a subordinate. As a result, he had developed a useful ability to ogle females without outwardly appearing to do so. There was no fooling Deanna, but happily, there was no need to try.
The one exception to Picard�s self-imposed fraternization rule occurred years before on the Enterprise-D. Commander Daren�s brush with death had reaffirmed that rule with a vicious slap in Picard�s emotional face. He vowed never to let that occur again. But maintaining objectivity and control around attractive women was a damned difficult vow to keep, especially when it came to Beverly. As he had told her son years before, he always had to work at that. The incident with Neela, more than any other now, was one to rudely intrude into Jean-Luc�s mind whenever his private thoughts turned to pursuing an on-board relationship.
Or at least any serious thoughts . . . There were always the hidden fantasies that he had harbored about the good doctor for what . . . forty-some years? Occasionally, whenever the need �arose,� Jean-Luc satisfied himself in the privacy of his own bunk. In most of these instances, his motivational thoughts turned to various Beverly-related scenarios. But while she served on his ship, acting on these thoughts was forever out of the question for him. There was always a �someday� in the back of his mind, though.
*********
LaForge�s innovative techniques for custom designing and installing the self-sustaining industrial replication equipment on war-scarred planets earned him distinction and honors. While he believed it to be far from true, Geordi had earned the reputation of being, �The Man Who Rebuilt the Federation.� To his dismay, he learned just how much of a public figure he had become when the subspace messages started flowing in. There were requests for speaking engagements and offers to chair seminars. These he wouldn�t have minded so much, but for every one of those, there were ten requests for Federation News Service interviews, public appearances at parades and celebrations and even invitations to the private homes of important officials and popular celebrities. He politely ignored these and tried to focus on his job, until one day there was a decision to make.
Captain Picard himself came to him with the news. Starfleet had made the offer of a lifetime to LaForge; promotion to the rank of Captain and the title of Director of Starfleet Engineering Research at the Daystrom Institute on Rigel III. This new position would become effective as soon as Enterprise came back within range of any transport ships that could shuttle Geordi to his new post . . . if he accepted. It was the hardest decision of his life. Leaving the Enterprise was not something to be taken lightly. One particular selling point was that he would be working two buildings away from Leah Brahms. According to Geordi�s research, she no longer seemed to have a husband these days . . .
*********
�Beverly, I know that things didn�t exactly . . .�
�C-Congratulations, Captain . . . Sir . . . I mean Ambassador! I�m . . . I�m sure your . . . you will . . . I hope you have a nice time in the Gamma Quadrant!�
Picard answered the sudden interruption, �Thank you, Mr. Barclay. I�m . . . I�m sure I will . . . yes . . .�
Reg�s eyes sparkled with panic, �Yes. Yes. Well . . . Thank you, Sir . . . I have to . . . excuse me . . .� Commander Barclay spun on a heel and managed to spray half of his Synthale across Commodore Pulaski�s back. The resulting tumult provided Picard with the diversion that he needed.
�Beverly, why don�t we go somewhere . . . quieter? If you wouldn�t mind.� Now that he had the momentum, this was as good a time as any to get these things said before he left for the far side of the galaxy.
Without hesitation, Captain Crusher agreed fully by grasping Ambassador Picard�s hand and steering unerringly for the door. As it whispered shut behind them, the two realized that they were still not totally alone. There were at least a dozen people up both sides of the corridor engaged in either ship�s business or private conversations. All heads turned toward them when they came out of the room. Beverly dropped Jean-Luc�s hand a little too abruptly. Thinking quickly, before anyone could initiate more congratulations, Beverly announced, �This way Captain, I�d like to show you some scan results,� and started purposely and very professionally down the hall. Picard took her lead and followed in step, giving quick, curt nods to the others as he passed them.
(This story continues in two more parts.)