During my convalescence I devoted a lot of time to looking for a new posting. I was anxious to make up for lost time, so I rearranged my priorities. My hope to be a flight controller on a ship whose assignment was deep space exploration would have to wait, as there were no postings available. So instead, I looked at the openings on ships assigned to Starbase Earhart’s sector; a vessel close by would at least get me on active duty sooner. I found one on the Reliant, an opening for a junior science officer. The ship was a small one, assigned to routine patrol in this sector of space. It wasn’t really what I wanted, but I was qualified—though I’d failed organic chemistry, I had high marks in astrosciences and archaeology. I submitted my application, and received a call via subspace from the ship’s commander.
“Ensign,” Captain Quinn said, “I don’t like troublemakers.” Gregory Quinn was a large man, with a soft, intimidating voice.
“I understand, Captain,” I said. I tried to think of what I could say to convince him that I was no longer a firebrand, and decided instead to stay mum. Despite my recent indiscretion, my transcripts had been adequate enough for him to seriously consider me.
“I don’t know Captain Hanson, or why he wanted you,” Quinn said. “But this isn’t that job. Are you sure being a junior science officer is going to be exciting enough for you?”
“I’m not looking for excitement, sir,” I said. “I’m looking to serve.” On the viewscreen, I could see that Quinn was studying me, trying to tell if I was being sincere. I honestly didn’t know if I was, I just knew that was the only appropriate answer to give. It seemed to be enough for him.
“I need to fill this opening, so you’ve got the job. I’m not sure if I’m happy about it, but it’s the situation we’re in. Reliant will be docked at Earhart by 0800. Report to Lieutenant Nakamura then,” he said, and signed off.
* * *
“Welcome aboard,” Nakamura said as I stepped off the transporter, my duffel in tow. “Captain wants you to have a stem-to-stern tour.” Nakamura was the senior science officer, friendly if a little officious. He had me drop my belongings in my quarters and then led me through the small, clean ship. There were only thirty-four crewmembers, and by the end of the first few hours on board I’d met a good number of them. The only part of the ship I didn’t get to see was the bridge.
“You only go there if you’re reporting for your shift, or if you’re called,” Nakamura said. “Captain Quinn doesn’t like extra people up there.” After our tour, Nakamura took me to a room about the size of a large closet, just large enough for a computer console, table and chair.
“Welcome to the science lab,” Nakamura said, with a smile.
“This is it?”
“This is it.” Nakamura showed me what I would be doing as a junior science officer. There was no real research on a ship this small; most of what the science officers did was take in data. The ship ran on four six-hour shifts; I would be serving on two: 1900 to 0100 in the science lab, and 0100 to 0700 on the bridge. While on the bridge, the science officer, aside from providing information to his commanding officers, coordinated whatever scientific information was coming into the ship, whether significant or trivial: sensor data, reports from planetary surveys, communications from Starfleet or Federation planets. The officer serving in the lab, when not assigned to an away team, was to make sure the information routed from the bridge was properly categorized and catalogued, and reported to Starfleet Command. This was one of the pillars of our civilization: ships all over the quadrant were taking in information and sending it to Starfleet Command, where it became part of the collective knowledge of the Federation.
It was also very tedious work. My first shift in the lab was spent sorting data and preparing reports to be approved later by Nakamura before being sent off. Whatever fantasy I had of serving aboard a starship, six hours sitting alone in a room staring at a computer screen wasn’t part of it. But what got me through the tedium and disappointment of that first day was my anticipation of reporting to the bridge. At the end of my shift in the lab, I closed it up and went there.
Like most starships, the Reliant duplicated Earth conditions of day and night, so I was reporting on what would be considered 1am; the lighting in the corridors was low, as it was on the bridge. It was the familiar layout, though smaller than what I expected. I was a few minutes early for my shift change, and reported to the commanding officer in the captain’s chair, a woman in her thirties: Commander Shanthi, the ship’s first officer.
“Ensign Picard, reporting for duty,” I said. She turned and looked at me.
“You are early, Ensign,” she said. She had a thick East Indian accent, and a formality that I found a little intimidating. “Report to your station.” I went to the science station, and met the other junior science officer, a man about my age. He stood up; I was surprised how much taller he was.
“Walker Keel,” he said. He smiled and held out his hand. I shook it. He looked familiar.
“Jean-Luc Picard,” I said. “Have we met?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You and your friends almost started a fight with me and mine at a bar on Tau Ceti III.” I remembered the incident: Corey, Marta, and I were on our way home from Morikin, and had had a little too much to drink.
“Sorry about that,” I said.
“No apology necessary,” Walker said. “We were all a little full of ourselves.” I was relieved there were no hard feelings, as it turned out he was my roommate; we hadn’t seen each other yet due to the staggered shifts.
“I relieve you, sir,” I said, indulging with full seriousness the ceremony of my first duty shift on the bridge. Walker chuckled.
“I stand relieved,” he said, amused at my obvious pleasure. I took the science station, as the other crewmen were relieved by their graveyard shift replacements. This shift was a young one. The ship’s second officer, Lieutenant Commander Altman, who was only a few years older than me, relieved Commander Shanthi. I looked out the large viewscreen. The beautiful blue-green planet that was home to Starbase Earhart filled the bottom quarter of the screen. The rest was stars.
It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but it was close enough.
* * *
“Sir, I want to make a proposal,” I said. It was during one of my duty shifts in the science lab. Lieutenant Nakamura had stopped by to review a few reports I’d completed for approval.
“Proposal?” he said. I could tell he just wanted to get through his work and sign out for the day, but I had to make my pitch now or it would be too late.
“Yes,” I said. “Since we’ll be in orbit of Milika III for one more day, there’s an archaeological site that we should investigate.” We’d come to Milika III delivering the new Federation ambassador and his staff to the planet. It was an arid planet, home to an advanced species of humanoids. The Milikans until quite recently had been a culture ripped apart by religious differences, but in the last few decades had united under one government and quickly gone into space. There were still pockets of religious dogmatists on the world, but the Federation had determined that the planet fit enough of the guidelines for admission to the Federation, and the government began the process of opening diplomatic relations. Reliant had been assigned to set up a Federation embassy on this planet. It had been a stressful time for Quinn and the crew, as the ambassador, an elderly man named William Smithie, had been exacting in his demands. I, on the other hand, had very little to do so I’d been reading everything I could about the planet and stumbled upon a native archeologist’s research paper on a recently discovered site.
“What is so important about this site?” he asked. I could see Nakamura was getting a little annoyed, but I had to push on.
“It contains Vulcan artifacts,” I said. “A local archeologist discovered them last month, and the Federation has not confirmed the find yet. If they are authentic, it might mean the ancient Vulcans had an unknown colony on this world.”
“I don’t know if we have anyone on board qualified i
n the procedures to authenticate a site like this,” he said.
“Actually, I’m qualified, sir,” I said. My years of study with Professor Galen had left me prepared for this opportunity. I could tell, however, that Nakamura’s annoyance had now grown to frustration. “If I authenticate the find, it would save the Federation Archaeology Council from having to task another ship.”
“Give me the proposal,” Nakamura said, “and I’ll take it to the captain.” I was ready for this and handed him a PADD with my proposal on it. He wasn’t happy. No one on this ship would care about Vulcan artifacts, especially the captain. But I’d presented him with an opportunity that he had to take up the chain of command. The Federation Archaeology Council would certainly ask for the site to be authenticated before sending a team to explore it further. The efficiency of my proposal was compelling, even if it was also a little annoying. Because Nakamura knew that the main reason for my suggesting it had nothing to do with science.
I wanted to go on an away mission.
My eighteen months on the Reliant had been pleasant. I’d begun to make friends among the crew, and the work was rarely demanding. It was also rarely interesting. I wasn’t going to let that affect my performance, and I completed all my duties quickly and effectively. I didn’t see much of the captain: he came on bridge duty just as I was signing out. My vague impression was that my work ethic had done a lot to ease his initial concerns about offering me the posting.
But I hadn’t left the confines of the ship. If there was an away mission that required a science officer, Nakamura usually went, and if he didn’t go, he sent Walker. I was getting the shipboard equivalent of “cabin fever” and was looking for some way to justify walking on solid ground. The obscure archaeology journal I’d found in the database from Milika III gave me my opportunity.
As the day went on, and I hadn’t heard anything, my hope began to dim. We were due to leave orbit the next morning at 0900, and by the time I reported for my duty shift on the bridge, I assumed that my proposal had either been turned down or ignored. When Nakamura relieved me at 0700, he said the captain wanted to talk to me. I stepped down into the well of the bridge near the captain’s chair. Quinn, having just taken over from Altman, was reading his shift report. He didn’t look up.
“Archaeology, huh? Was never that interested in it myself,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“How long would you need?”
“Once at the site, the scans would take less than thirty minutes,” I said. It would actually take a lot less than that, but I didn’t want whoever was leading the away mission to rush me. Turns out that wouldn’t be a problem.
“You will be leading the away mission,” Quinn said. “Pick an assistant and a security officer, report back to the ship in one hour. Dismissed.” Quinn never looked up from his report, but I’m sure he could tell I was dumbfounded. Leading? I was leading an away mission? I’d never even been on one. Quinn finally looked at me.
“I gave you an order,” he said.
“Yes, sir!” I stumbled out of the bridge, eager and queasy.
* * *
“Thanks a lot,” Walker said. We had just beamed down to Milika III with a security officer. It was like being shoved into an oven: it was over 43 degrees Celsius, an intense dry heat. We were a few kilometers outside the capital city, near a small congregation of ruins many thousands of years old. I’d assigned Walker to come, for the simple reason that, though I was in charge of the mission, every officer on the ship outranked me. Although he wasn’t pleased that I’d conscripted him during his off-duty shift, I was at least assured he wouldn’t be challenging my already shaky authority.
The security officer, Ensign Cheva (her full Thai name was Chevapravatdumrong, but she used the shortened version), examined her tricorder.
“Vehicle approaching,” she said. We turned to see a floating vehicle, an air raft, open with four seats but only one occupant. It slowed as it got near, and settled softly to the ground. Its driver, a squat, brown-faced figure with ridges above his eyebrows, climbed out. He ran up to us, his flowing tan robes fluttering behind him, and excitedly held up his hands in the traditional Milika greeting. As was customary, I placed my palms against his, briefly.
“You must be Picard,” the Milika said. “I am Mantz. I’m so delighted you read my paper.”
“It was my pleasure,” I said. I introduced the rest of the away team. Mantz started talking about how he had been working this dig site for over a decade, and went into what would be a lengthy lecture about its history. After several moments, Walker gave me a look, and I took the hint.
“You should probably show us the artifacts,” I said. “We are somewhat pressed for time.” Mantz apologized much too profusely, and led us down into the dig site to an excavated room. He took us to a sealed case which he opened; it contained catalogued artifacts. He indicated a broken sculpture inside. I kneeled down and scanned the pieces with my tricorder.
“Pottery?” Walker said. “We’re baking in this heat for some pottery?”
“It’s not just pottery,” I said. I picked up part of the sculpture; it was a head with pointed ears, and the base had a symbol on it. “This is a katric ark.”
“Is it authentic?” Mantz was very excited. I completed my scan.
“It was made out of native materials, but the design and age would indicate that it is,” I said.
“What’s a katric ark?” It was Cheva who asked the question, but it was also apparent from Walker’s expression that he didn’t know either.
“Upon death,” I said, “a Vulcan’s ‘living spirit’ is transferred to a katric ark.”
“Transferred?” Walker said.
“Telepathically,” I said. “Supposedly, the spirit exists there indefinitely.”
“Come on,” Walker said.
“I’m being serious. Captain Jonathan Archer supposedly had the katra of Surak in his head…”
“This confirms my theory,” Mantz said. “There was a Vulcan colony on this planet.”
“We would need more evidence to reach that conclusion,” I said. “But this artifact is at least authentic. The Federation Archeology Council will certainly send a team.” We were interrupted by a call from the ship. I opened my communicator.
“Reliant to Picard,” Nakamura said. “We’re beaming you up immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” I could hear the red alert klaxon over the speaker. I turned to Mantz. “We’ll have to come back later.”
“But what’s the matter? I have more to show you…” Mantz looked apoplectic.
“I know, I apologize, but we must go,” I said. Walker, Cheva, and I stepped away from him. “Picard to Reliant, we’re ready to beam up.”
“Stand by,” Nakamura said. “Belay that, transporter not functioning.” I turned to Cheva, who had her tricorder out.
“There’s a particle-scattering field,” she said. “It wasn’t there before.”
“Someone doesn’t want us to beam up,” Walker said.
“Picard to Reliant, we’re detecting a particle scattering field. Do you read that as well?”
“Affirmative, stand by,” Nakamura said. His tone was unusually taut.
“What is going on?” Mantz said.
“Please, sir, I need you to be quiet,” I said. “You’re safe with us.” That of course was a lie. If we were the object of the scattering field, then he was completely unsafe with us, but I needed information.
“Picard, this is the captain,” Quinn said. “The Federation ambassador has been kidnapped. The scattering field was set up so we can’t beam him up, or beam anyone down.”
“Who kidnapped him?”
“Religious extremists,” Quinn said. “They’ve demanded the removal of the embassy, and want the Federation off their planet by tomorrow, or they’ll kill the ambassador.” I noticed Mantz listening to this, registering understanding. “Stay out of sight until we resolve this. They’re hiding somewhere in the old section of
the capital city. It’s unlikely the extremists even know you’re there. Reliant out.” I turned to Mantz.
“You know who these extremists are?” I said. Mantz nodded.
“They call themselves the Xaalas. They continue to adhere to the old beliefs. You must understand they represent only a small minority of our people.” He seemed embarrassed and worried by the act of his fellow natives. I decided to use that to our advantage.
“Mantz, can you take us into the city?” I said.
“Captain told us to lay low,” Walker said.
“Because they don’t know we’re here,” I replied. “Which is exactly the reason we should try to ascertain the situation.” Walker smiled, and nodded.
* * *
We waited until nightfall, and then flew to the city in Mantz’s air raft. Mantz picked up clothing at his home for us, and in a short time Walker, Cheva, and I were covered in the flowing robes the natives wore. We then headed for the old section; unlike the modern glass and steel constructions of the capital, the buildings in the old section were made of brick and mortar. The streets narrowed to alleys, and the air raft became too conspicuous, so Mantz parked it, and the four of us moved through on foot. Cheva was on her tricorder, tracking the ambassador’s life signs.
She stopped us two streets away from the ambassador’s location. She indicated down an alley to a three-story building. We could see several Milikans with weapons patrolling the streets around it. I gave Cheva permission to leave us to perform a closer scout. Walker and I were a bit taller than the average Milika, but Cheva was an appropriate height, and could move among them unnoticed, especially at night. After she left, I turned to Mantz.
“Mantz, you should go,” I said. “Thank you for your help.”
“I am not leaving,” he said.
“I don’t want to put your life in danger…”
“They are the ones putting us in danger,” Mantz said, referring to the guards. “I want to help.” I was surprised and impressed by how personally Mantz was taking the actions of his fellow Milikans. This was a man who was standing up for progress.
STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JEAN-LUC PICARD Page 8
