STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JEAN-LUC PICARD

by David A. Goodman

  And the broken ship model, the NX-01, which I blamed on Robert, who claimed innocence. I remembered how angry my father got when I accused my brother. I was suddenly sure that Robert was innocent; the boot that had stepped on it had in fact belonged to my father.

  The anger dissipated, replaced by loss and regret for a connection that could have been—if he’d been a different man, a man who could communicate with his son, share his dreams, who didn’t let his envy and frustration get in his way. And then I felt envy, envy of that young boy I’d just met who had a father to hold him.

  * * *

  “We have read your report,” Admiral Blackwell said. “I’m sorry to say we weren’t convinced.” I was in a large conference room on Starbase 32. At the table were two admirals, senior members of the Admiralty, and a third watching from a viewscreen. I knew none of them personally. This was a large gamble, one I had to take, not just for the war effort, but for everyone close to me.

  The duty Stargazer drew was taking its toll on the ship and crew. Everyone understood the importance of keeping our ships supplied with those valuable assets that our replicators couldn’t make, but as news of Starfleet’s losses reached us, my ship’s crew (and its captain) desired a more important role. I contacted Admiral Hanson, and made my pitch. Hanson arranged the meeting for me, though he couldn’t be there; he was still on Earth. His task of keeping fleet production on its vigorous pace was even more vital.

  The day-to-day operations of the war effort were in the hands of a few admirals, two of which were in this room and the third was sitting in a darkened room from an undisclosed location somewhere in the Galaxy. He was the important one, the one that I was counting on. The eldest of the three, at least 100 years old, didn’t introduce himself, and seemed to be willing to leave me to the other two. But I was hoping when the moment came he would speak. Only he might have the information that would sell my plan. He in fact was the one admiral I’d asked Hanson to get in the meeting.

  “I understand, Admiral Blackwell,” I said. “But I have new information to add. I will keep it brief.” I directed most of my presentation to Margaret Blackwell, a reserved woman in her fifties, as she at least offered some courtesy or the pretense of it.

  I went to the viewscreen on the wall and brought up my chart.

  “As I pointed out in my report,” I said. “All the raids on Federation shipping and colonies before the Setlik III massacre were focused on specific technology. Technology related to our replicators.”

  “Yes, yes,” Admiral Janeway said. “We told you we read your report already.” This was Edward Janeway, clearly a man who wanted to be anywhere else. And I really couldn’t blame him. Starfleet crews were losing their lives daily, and he was responsible for them.

  “Captain Picard,” Admiral Blackwell said, “your theory that the Cardassians became interested in Federation technology after having observed the replicator aboard your ship is interesting. But to suggest they went to war over it…”

  “That’s not what I’m suggesting,” I said. “The raids were about the technology. The war is about us settling on Setlik III and establishing Starbase 211.” Starbase 211 was the newest Federation outpost, built only a few light-years from the Cardassian border.

  “Those were completely separate events,” Janeway said. “The Starbase began construction long before the raids started, and the Federation colony on Setlik was not a Starfleet operation.”

  “There is no way the Cardassians could be sure of either of those facts,” I said. “It is easier for them to believe that we knew of their lower technological level, and assume that we planned on taking advantage of it by invading from two new outposts.”

  “That is not the Federation way,” Janeway said.

  “No, but it is the Cardassian way,” I said. “They projected their own motivations upon us.” I could see that I wasn’t making any progress. This was all in my original report; I was repeating a case I’d already argued unsuccessfully. But I had to keep going. “There is a way to end this conflict. We offer them the technology they were trying to steal before the war started.”

  “If, as you say,” Admiral Blackwell said, “the raids are about replicator technology, then surely by now they’ve got it.”

  “Exactly,” Janeway said. “We’ve lost several ships and bases. They must have salvaged something by now.”

  This was the moment I was waiting for, the reason I had stuck my neck out to make my case. I knew that Starfleet had intelligence operations behind the lines, operations that I didn’t have clearance for. But one person in this meeting did. Now I looked over at him.

  He was old, and gray. He had been a Starfleet officer since he was 22 and was now in charge of Starfleet Intelligence. I would love to have spent a day with him and learned about his incredible career, serving on two ships named Enterprise. But right now I just needed him to answer Blackwell’s query.

  He looked up and cracked a smile. The other two turned, sensing that their older companion was about to speak.

  “The Cardassians haven’t got it,” he said, his voice thick with a Slavic accent. “Or they haven’t figured out how to make it work. Their people are starving, and the military continues to promise that victory will feed their children.”

  This was what I needed. Blackwell and Janeway exchanged a look. “Wouldn’t giving them replicator technology,” Blackwell said, “violate the Prime Directive?”

  “Do you think if it ended the war,” Admiral Chekov said, “anybody would care?”

  “The ends do not justify the means,” Janeway said.

  “Do what you want,” Chekov said. “The kid’s idea deserves a shot.” He disappeared from the viewscreen. It took me a moment to realize that, at the age of 48, I was the “kid.” Blackwell and Janeway exchanged a silent glance. Janeway sighed, resigned, and was the first to speak.

  “Walk us through your plan once more.”

  * * *

  It took us five days to reach the Cardassian border. I’d chosen an area that was known to be well patrolled; it was important that I get their attention, but not be so close to their homeworld as to appear a threat.

  “Approaching Sector 21503,” Crusher said, from the conn.

  “Hold station,” I said, then turned to Black, and had him open a hailing frequency. I sent a general message to any Cardassian ship in the area that I was there to parlay for a truce.

  It wasn’t long before I received a response.

  “Ship closing,” Cheva said. “ Galor class.” This was the newest type of Cardassian vessel, and I’d suggested this area specifically because several of these newer class of ships had been encountered here. The Stargazer was no match for it, and that was the point. I wanted the Cardassians to believe my intentions were sincere. To get them to agree to a parlay, I would be offering a replicator. I was certain that it would show our good faith, and the relative weakness of my ship would show I was no threat.

  The vessel hung in front of us.

  “Sensors detect they’ve locked weapons,” Vigo said. “Should I do the same?”

  “Negative,” I said. “We will take no provocative action.” I had Black open another hailing frequency.

  “Cardassian vessel, please respond,” I said. “I bring greetings from the United Federation of Planets, who wishes to negotiate a ceasefire.”

  Still no response. I could tell them what I had to offer, but with them not responding I was doubtful they would believe me. They were aggressive and suspicious, and I expected they would think I was setting some kind of trap. I needed something to change the game.

  “As a gesture of goodwill,” I said. “I will lower my shields.” Crusher turned and looked at me.

  “Captain,” he said, “I think we should give it a few more minutes.” I thought about his suggestion; I suppose it had some merit. But I had already told the Cardassians what I was going to do, and so I was committed.

  “Carry out my order,” I said. Crusher turned back to his c
onsole, and Cheva lowered the shields. “Cardassian vessel, as you can see—”

  I was thrown off my feet as a Cardassian disrupter ripped into the saucer section of the ship. Consoles exploded on the bridge.

  “Direct hit,” Cheva said. “Weapons systems damaged…”

  “Shields up,” I said, pulling myself off the deck.

  “Shields non-responsive,” Vigo said.

  “Get us out of here…”

  The Cardassian ship fired. I watched as the engineering console caught fire.

  “Impulse engines off-line,” Crusher said. I leaned over him. There was a course plotted away from the Cardassian ship, and I saw the warp engines were still online. I threw the switch to engage them, and we jumped to warp speed.

  “Report!”

  “We’re at warp 2…warp 3…” Crusher said.

  “Cardassian ship pursuing… they’re at warp 4… warp 5…” Cheva said.

  “Engineering,” I said, talking into the intercom, “Scully, we need more speed…”

  “I can give you warp 6,” Scully said, “but we won’t be able to hold it for long… it’s a mess down here. Why did we lower the shields?”

  “Just give me what you can,” I said, ignoring his question. I was slammed forward—the Cardassian had hit us again with a torpedo. It looked like there was no salvaging this peace mission.

  “Weapons status,” I said.

  “Forward and aft torpedo bays damaged, phasers inoperative,” Cheva said.

  The only reason we were still alive is the Cardassians had focused on taking out our weapons first. They’d been certain I was laying a trap.

  “Black, send out a distress call,” I said.

  “They’re jamming transmission,” Black said. I checked the status of the Cardassian ship; it was overtaking us. This was bad and getting worse.

  “Ship coming in,” Cheva said. “It’s the U.S.S. Crazy Horse.” The “cavalry” had arrived, ironically named after a Native American. The Crazy Horse raced past us, and opened fire on the Cardassian ship, who turned and ran.

  “Subspace interference is fading,” Black said. “Captain Ross calling.” Captain Ross appeared on the viewscreen, smiling at me from the bridge of the Crazy Horse.

  “Nice try, Jean-Luc,” Ross said. “We’ll get this guy off your back.” I thanked him and headed for the barn. My “big swing” was a complete failure. We would stay on supply duty for the foreseeable future.

  A few months later, the U.S.S. Cairo, under the command of the newly promoted Edward Jellico, took three ships, surrounded a Galor-class vessel and demanded a parlay. They respected the strength he showed and agreed to a temporary ceasefire… in exchange for a replicator and the instructions on how to build one. Jellico and Starfleet Command had seen the truth in my proposal, but I got no credit for it because my method almost lost me my ship. I wasn’t sure my situation could get much worse.

  How wrong I was.

  * * *

  “They’re called the Chalnoth,” Ailat said. “My people have avoided them.”

  We had entered the Chalna system, which had one habitable world. The system was uncharted, but we’d entered an area of space not far from the Edosian homeworld, so I had called Dr. Ailat to the bridge to see if she could provide us with any information that wasn’t in our computer memory.

  “Do they have warp capability?” I asked.

  “They did,” Ailat said. “Their society fell victim to narcissistic leaders, and has since devolved into anarchy. Such unrest makes maintaining a space-going infrastructure impossible. Which, I would say, is fortunate for its neighboring systems.”

  “Put us in a standard orbit,” I said. I watched on the viewscreen as we approached the brown and yellow planet.

  “I’m detecting orbital structures and ships,” Cheva said. On the screen, a large space station floated toward us. “No power signatures or life signs.”

  As we got closer, it was very clear that the station had been abandoned for a long time. There were signs of battle damage, breaches to its hull caused by energy weapons and projectiles. A number of ships of various sizes were drifting nearby, all dead. The scene was foreboding.

  “Scan the planet,” I said.

  “Heavily populated, signs of some advanced technology,” Cheva said.

  “Have they scanned us?”

  “No, sir,” Vigo said. “No sign of scanners or advanced ground-to-space weapons systems.”

  “There’s a lot of dilithium down there,” Cheva said. I looked over at her scanner. There was a highlighted section on the planet, a rich vein over a hundred kilometers square. It was very tantalizing. Starfleet had no source of the valuable substance—responsible for powering starships—in this section of the Galaxy. Having a mining treaty in this sector that could supply Starfleet with dilithium would be a vital resource given the current political situation. We had a ceasefire with the Cardassians that could break down at any moment, and though the Klingons were no longer threatening the Federation, they had armed the Tzenkethi, who were making aggressive moves. The possibility of war was never far off.

  “What does the Prime Directive say about a planet like this?” Cheva said.

  “They had warp drive once,” Crusher said. “And those ships aren’t that old. They’re aware of other worlds and other cultures.”

  I looked over at Ailat, who nodded.

  “The Chalnoth have been in space in my lifetime,” Ailat said. “It is unlikely they’ve forgotten that other worlds exist.” The Prime Directive specifically stated that any contact with a primitive society with no knowledge of the other star-faring species meant that could not be revealed to them. However, if they were already aware, the Federation could trade with them.

  “And we’ve got to have something they want,” Crusher said. I smiled, knowing what was behind Jack pushing this mission. He’d recently gotten other offers to be first officer on better ships than this one, and turned them all down. He maintained he was only going to leave for a ship of his own. But I knew he was staying out of loyalty to me, and I also knew it would only be a matter of time before someone gave him a captain’s chair. Until that happened, he’d taken it upon himself to get me out of my career purgatory. A treaty to mine dilithium on Chalna might do the trick.

  “Still,” I said, “it seems dangerous to beam down without knowing more.”

  “We can’t beam down near the dilithium vein anyway,” Cheva said. “There’s too much interference.”

  “All right,” I said. “Cheva, you, Vigo, and Dr. Ailat take a shuttle, scout the area and report back.” I stared at the derelict spaceships hanging in front of me. They felt like a warning. One I didn’t heed.

  * * *

  “Shuttlecraft Erickson, do you read?” Black said. There was no response.

  We’d lost contact with the shuttle just as it cleared the cloud layer. They were flying low over the area when Cheva reported they’d been hit by an energy weapon and lost engine control.

  “I’ve got them,” Crusher said. “They’ve crashed.”

  “Life signs?”

  “Faint,” he said. “Difficult to read with all the interference.”

  “Transporter Room,” I said, into the intercom, “can we lock onto them and beam them up?”

  “Negative,” Transporter Chief Youlin said. “All that interference from the dilithium is disrupting their patterns.”

  “What about the emergency transporter in the shuttle?” Crusher said.

  “It’s not powerful enough to reach the ship at this distance,” Youlin said.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Crusher said. “We can operate it remotely to act as a pattern enhancer so we can beam down to them.” Transporter-to-transporter beaming was always much safer; Crusher’s idea was brilliant. Once there, the shuttle’s transporter could be used to enhance our lock on the survivors.

  “If it’s still operational,” Youlin said, “that should work, but we can only send one person at a time. More tha
n that is too risky.”

  “All right,” I said. I had decided it was my responsibility to rescue Cheva and the landing party. I had ignored the danger signs, and now they might die because of it. “Mr. Crusher, you have the bridge…”

  As I reached the turbolift, Crusher moved to intercept me.

  “Request permission…” he said.

  “Denied,” I said.

  “With all due respect, sir,” Crusher said, “we have no knowledge of who shot the shuttle down, no knowledge of the damage it has sustained. It is reckless for you to beam in there with so little information.” I looked at him; he felt responsible too. And, as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. As cowardly as I felt staying behind, it was irresponsible of me to beam myself into an obviously dangerous situation with absolutely no knowledge of the conditions awaiting me.

  “Very well, Mr. Crusher,” I said. “Proceed.” I watched him leave the bridge, wishing I’d had another choice.

  A few minutes later, Crusher had beamed into the shuttle, and immediately managed to activate the onboard communicator. We had a visual image of the interior of the damaged craft. Cheva, Ailat, and Vigo were all unconscious, bleeding from head wounds.

  Crusher scanned them with a medical tricorder.

  “They’ve got concussions,” Crusher said. “Looks like it was a pretty rough ride.”

  “Is the shuttle operational?” I said.

  “Negative,” he said. “But we should be able to beam everybody up, one at a time.” He picked up Cheva and brought her to lay under the shuttle’s emergency transporter.

  “Youlin, one to beam up.”

  “Picking up life signs closing in on the shuttle,” Black said, sitting at ops. I looked at the readout: five life-forms were closing on the shuttle from all directions.