“His cooperation in destroying Brakmaktin.”
“Who was a threat to your people, I gather.”
“He was, yes.”
“So much so that you made a journey through the barrier to see him eliminated.”
“That is true.”
“So Picard did you a turn, and now you’re doing him one.”
Dojjaron lifted his chin. “As I said.”
“And to what length,” asked the admiral, “would you go to repay your friend Picard?”
“He is not my friend,” said the Nuyyad. “He was my ally, but now he is nothing to me. As for what length I would go to…he did my people a great favor. There is little I would not do.”
“Would you lie for him?” asked McAteer.
The Nuyyad’s eyes screwed up. “Of course.”
The admiral smiled. “And is that what you’re doing now? Lying before this tribunal in order to save Picard’s command?”
Dojjaron’s lip curled. “Among my people, we have word-twisters too. We flay their skin from their bones and stake them out in the wastes, to be devoured by predators.”
That gave McAteer pause, but only for a moment. “Answer the question,” he insisted.
“Of course I would lie for Picard,” said Dojjaron. “But in this instance, I am telling the truth. He saved you and your people from conquest. You should honor him instead of humiliating him.”
The admiral’s eyes sparkled. “That’s for us to decide.” He turned to Caber. “Anything, Admiral?”
Caber shook his head.
McAteer turned back to the Nuyyad. “Then you’re excused.”
Dojjaron stood there a second or two longer, as if to say he would leave whenever he felt like it. Then he made a sound of disdain and trundled out of the room, his security escort following dutifully in his wake.
McAteer took in his fellow admirals with a glance. “I, for one, have heard enough. Admiral Caber?”
“So have I,” came the response.
McAteer turned to Mehdi. “Admiral?”
Mehdi didn’t look eager to invite the next step, but he had no choice. “Of course.” As he sat down, he exchanged looks with Picard. The captain smiled at him, grateful for all he had done.
Indeed, he had put up a good fight. In any other court, it would have made a difference. And by the same token, Dojjaron’s testimony would have peppered the opposition’s argument with holes a starship could sail through.
But this wasn’t any other court. Picard’s future as a captain in Starfleet lay solely in the laps of three men, one of whom happened to be his accuser.
In other words, he didn’t stand a chance.
According to protocol, the admirals would present their verdicts one at a time. McAteer offered to go first.
Clasping his hands in front of him, he shot a look of regret at Picard—one he had probably practiced in front of a mirror. Then he said what everyone in the room expected him to say.
“This is a difficult decision for me,” he began. “However, Captain Picard demonstrated a serious lack of judgment and a disregard for established protocols in a clear-cut first-contact situation. Regardless of the outcome, he fell short of Starfleet’s expectations. And in the process, he endangered all of us.
“To allow him to repeat his mistake would be a most grievous error on our parts. We can make only one responsible choice—to demote him and reassign command of the Stargazer.”
Leaving his words hanging in the air, McAteer sat back in his seat. And Admiral Mehdi sat forward.
“Obviously,” he said, “Captain Picard diverged from recommended behavior in his dealings with the Nuyyad. But as we have seen, he was right to do so. Foremost Elder Dojjaron said so himself, and who would know better than he?
“Admiral McAteer may say Captain Picard was lucky. I say he was following the sort of instincts that encouraged me to grant him his captaincy in the first place. We must allow him to keep on displaying those instincts where he belongs—in the center seat of the Stargazer.”
Then it was Caber’s turn. Picard smiled to himself. It had been a good run while it lasted.
Caber sat there for a moment, looking solemn. Then he addressed the room.
“Admiral McAteer,” he said, “is a man who obviously has the good of the fleet at heart. And he makes a cogent argument for relieving Captain Picard of his command.”
Picard bit his lip to keep from protesting. McAteer and Caber may have thought he was a loose cannon, but he wasn’t going to do anything to confirm their opinion.
“As the admiral has said,” Caber continued, “the evidence is clear. Captain Picard relied on the word of a woman who had already proven herself capable of lying to him.”
It will not be so bad serving as a first officer, Picard thought. Or would they break him down even further?
“He diverged from Starfleet protocols, ignored his training, and resorted to violence in a first-contact situation.”
Picard sighed. It had only been a few months since he was Captain Ruhalter’s second officer. I suppose I could live with that as well, if it comes to it.
“I don’t take the letter of Starfleet law lightly,” Caber continued. “It represents the accumulated wisdom of a lot of intelligent men and women—the people who commanded starships before we were born. Some of them gave their lives furthering our knowledge of the universe.”
But not on the Stargazer, Picard thought. That would be too much to ask. Walking the same corridors he had walked as captain, facing the same crewmen…except there would be pity in their eyes for what he had become….
“And I’m not talking about survey data or navigation logs. I’m talking about how we approach a species we’ve never seen before—how we put our best foot forward, even when it places us in danger—because in the experience of all the captains who came before us, that’s the way we get the job done.”
Normally, thought Picard, yes. But not in this case. It was too late for first-contact protocols.
“I wish,” said Caber, “that I could say I approved of the way Captain Picard handled the situation. However, I would have done it differently. And I, like Admiral McAteer, believe that discrepancy is a direct result of Picard’s inexperience.”
The captain glanced at Admiral Mehdi, but he saw no hope there. Just a resignation that mirrored his own.
“As I see it,” Caber declared, “Captain Picard’s actions could have ignited a war between the Nuyyad and the Federation. It was only pure luck that those actions prevented a war instead.”
McAteer looked as content as the captain had ever seen him. And why not? He had won.
“However,” said Caber, “we need men who are lucky on the bridges of our ships, just as much as we need men who follow the letter of Starfleet law.”
Picard wasn’t certain that he had heard correctly. Was Caber actually saying something good about him?
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” said Caber. “And all those captains who came before us…they went with their gut reaction as often as they went with protocol, even though they were the ones who helped put the protocol in place.
“You can’t teach instinct,” he noted. “You can’t imprint it. You can only give someone the leeway to make his own decisions and hope he shows some evidence of it—as Captain Picard did in his encounter with the Nuyyad.”
I will be damned, Picard thought. He is saying something good about me.
“Admiral,” said McAteer, protesting as the captain and Mehdi would not, “this is highly—”
“He may have been rash,” said Caber, forging ahead despite his colleague. “He may have thrown caution to the winds. But let’s not forget the fact that he was also right.”
“To believe that,” said McAteer, “you would have to take the word of a species we know nothing about.” He glanced at the captain. “And thanks to Picard, we never will.”
Caber appeared unimpressed. “Captain Picard may not have the ability to tell when
someone’s lying, Admiral, but I do. And Dojjaron was telling the truth. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Then,” said Admiral Mehdi, “you’ve decided to rule in Captain Picard’s favor?”
“I have,” said Caber.
McAteer turned crimson. “Admiral, you heard the evidence. I don’t see how you can—”
“Maybe I’m wrong about him,” said Caber. “Only time will tell, I suppose. But at this point, knowing what I know of him, I can’t rule any other way.”
McAteer looked as if he wanted to say more, to insist that his colleague see the matter as he did. But obviously, there was no point. Caber had made up his mind.
“Under the circumstances,” said Mehdi, a smile of unexpected pleasure on his face, “I would have to say that Captain Picard has received a vote of confidence. I trust he will continue to prove deserving of it.”
I will indeed, Picard thought.
At that juncture, McAteer probably wished he had chosen someone else for his jury, but it was too late. Having already extolled Caber’s qualifications on the record, he could hardly contradict himself now.
Mehdi regarded McAteer. “Admiral?”
The muscles in McAteer’s jaw worked furiously. But then, he had lost, and everyone knew it.
“The hearing is adjourned,” he conceded, his voice flat and lifeless.
Mehdi turned to Picard. Considering his place on the jury, it would have been unseemly for him to pat the captain on the back. But the glance Mehdi shot him served the same purpose.
Moments later, Picard found himself out in the corridor, surrounded by several of his officers—Ben Zoma, Simenon, Greyhorse, Joseph, and the Asmunds.
“So you’re still in charge?” asked Ben Zoma.
“It would appear so,” said the captain, “yes.”
Strange, he thought. He had been so certain that he would lose his command, so absolutely sure of it, it was difficult to come to terms with the fact that he hadn’t.
“Just as well,” Simenon responded. “I’ve begun to get accustomed to you.”
The captain smiled at him. “And I you.” He turned to Ben Zoma again. “Just one question—about Dojjaron.”
“Amazing, isn’t it? I didn’t think he would spit on you if you were dying of thirst. But when he heard about the hearing, he insisted on testifying in your behalf.”
“Then it was his idea?” Picard asked.
“His and no one else’s,” said Ben Zoma. “All I did was contact Admiral Mehdi, who—as you can imagine—was pleased as hell to have him as a witness.”
“Speak of the devil,” said Greyhorse.
Following the doctor’s gaze, Picard saw Dojjaron lumber toward him. The Nuyyad still had his security escort.
Ben Zoma and the others stepped aside to let Dojjaron approach the captain. Had they not, they might have been crushed underfoot.
“Foremost Elder,” said Picard, out of respect and gratitude.
“What was the outcome?” the Nuyyad asked.
“I will remain captain of the Stargazer.”
Dojjaron shrugged. “As you should.” Then his expression hardened. “We will meet again, I believe. But it will not be in the spirit of cooperation and common purpose.”
“You know,” said the captain, “I believed I had no chance of keeping my command. And yet, I have. It gives me hope that other impossibilities will come to pass.”
Picard was sure that Dojjaron understood what he was talking about. However, the Nuyyad didn’t comment. He just grunted again and walked away.
It was then that the three admirals began to file out of the courtroom. Mehdi went first, looking like a load had been lifted from his shoulders. Next came McAteer, who somehow found the wherewithal to smile despite his defeat.
And finally, Caber. He had no particular expression on his face, offering no insight into how he felt about what had transpired.
“Excuse me,” Picard told his colleagues.
Perhaps he should have let Caber walk away. But he couldn’t. Not until he had satisfied his curiosity.
“Admiral?” he said, hurrying to catch up.
Caber stopped and turned to him. “Ah. Captain Picard.”
“I would like to thank you for your vote of confidence, sir. I will do my best to prove worthy of it.”
“I have no doubt of it,” said Caber.
How can I put this? “I must say, sir, I was a trifle surprised…”
“Why is that?” asked the admiral.
“Considering what happened with your son…I thought you might hold it against me.”
“Hold it against you?” Caber dismissed the idea with a flip of his hand. “Why would I do that? My son is a brat, Picard. And a bigot as well, judging from your report. And the only reason he’d gotten away with those shortcomings for so long is because his name is the same as mine.”
“Then you…understand what I did?” asked Picard.
“Perfectly.” A look of regret crossed his face like a passing shadow. “I just wish one of his other captains had had the nerve to do it first.”
Picard didn’t know what to say.
“If you’ll excuse me,” said Caber, “I have to get going. I’m glad everything worked out for you.”
“Thank you,” said the captain.
He watched the admiral vanish around a turn in the corridor. Then he smiled to himself and thought, Remarkable.
Epilogue
COLE PARIS LAY STRETCHED OUT on his bed, thinking.
Nikolas had moved back in with him, his request approved by Commander Ben Zoma. In fact, Nikolas would have been sleeping in his old bed at that very moment were it not for his restlessness.
It wasn’t as bad as when he left the Stargazer, tortured by memories of Gerda Idun. However, he still had trouble sleeping, and he preferred a walk around the ship to any sedative Greyhorse might have prescribed for him.
Paris hadn’t told Nikolas about Jiterica. At least, not yet. But he had confided in Nikolas weeks earlier, asking him what he thought of the possibility of a relationship between a human and a Nizhrak.
Nikolas had told him to go for it. And Paris was sure if he told Nikolas now how he had ruined that relationship with his jealousy, his roommate would have chided him for it.
After all, Nikolas knew how precious a lover could be.
Paris had been a fool, but he would be a fool no longer. Getting up from his bed, he pulled on his boots and his jacket and started for the exit, determined to make things right with Jiterica no matter what it took.
But before he reached the door, he heard the chime that told him someone was standing outside it. A little annoyed at the delay, he said, “Come in.”
Then the door slid aside and Paris saw who was standing there, and his pulse pumped a little harder. “Jiterica,” he said.
He had come to pride himself on his ability to decipher her expressions. But this time, he couldn’t do it.
“May I come in?” she asked.
Paris didn’t like the tone of Jiterica’s voice. It was careful, guarded, as if she were doing her best to deal with him on a strictly unemotional level. And why would she do that—unless she intended to put an end to what they had?
“I need to tell you something,” said Jiterica.
That sounded bad. People said things like that when they were breaking off relationships.
He didn’t want to do that. Having had a taste of life with Jiterica, he couldn’t imagine it without her.
“Listen,” Paris told her, “you were right about my not liking Stave. I was jealous of him. But he’s dead and I should have put your feelings ahead of mine and…I don’t want to stop seeing you. I can’t.”
Jiterica stared at him from behind her faceplate. “Stop?” she echoed. “I don’t want to stop. I just want to tell you that I forgive you.”
Paris looked at her as if he had never heard the word before. “Forgive…?”
Yes,” she said. “And I hope you will forgive me for being so c
old to you.”
Paris had never been so happy to hear anything in his entire life.
Brakmaktin wasn’t dead.
He didn’t know it right away. In fact, he didn’t know much of anything. Then, ever so slowly, his consciousness asserted itself, and he began to ascend. He escaped the embrace of the lava, the furnace that had melted his flesh and eaten his bones, and made his way into the calm, still precincts above it.
Were Brakmaktin still in possession of his eyes, he might have looked around and seen how empty his cavern was. Were he still in possession of his flesh, he might have felt anger as white hot as the pit.
And were he in possession of a throat, he might have scraped it raw with howls of frustration.
But Brakmaktin had none of these things. He was only an essence now, an awareness that he was different from all that was around him and had been even more different before his corporeal form was taken from him.
But his physical self would have fallen away from him anyway. That was the irony—and he could still appreciate irony—of the changes that had taken place in him when the barrier infused him with its power and majesty.
Brakmaktin had thought of it merely as energy, but it was infinitely more than that. It was life itself. Not the life he had lived when he was but a shell, but life as it could be, unfettered, unlimited, and exalted.
And now that he had been liberated from his flesh, he no longer yearned to multiply and continue his bloodline. It was difficult to remember why that had been of such importance to him.
But he still yearned—not as a parent, but as a child. For the barrier had given birth to him in its way, re-making him in its image, and his longing to return to it was more powerful than any sun in the vast, black void.
Rising effortlessly, Brakmaktin cleared the layers of rock above him and made his way through the atmosphere of the world he had tortured with his ambition. He might have been sorry if he were capable of sorrow, but that emotion had been denied him even before he touched the barrier.
As it was, he put his actions behind him, recognizing them as trivialities, and reached into the vacuum for the only thing in the universe that mattered to him.
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