by Dayton Ward
Picard scowled in response. “This is hardly the time, Counselor.”
Standing before him, her hands on her hips and studying him with dark eyes that had always seen so effectively through his reserved veneer, Troi waited in silence. Picard knew she would do so until he acquiesced to her wishes—or the star in this system went nova, whichever came first.
“Please, sit down,” he said finally, offering her the other half of the sofa. For a moment he said nothing else, instead closing his eyes and trying to lose himself in the soothing, ever-present hum of the Enterprise’s engines.
When that failed him, he opened his eyes, realizing that Troi had spent that time studying his face before saying anything. “I sense your anger at what happened. Anger, guilt, and uncertainty that you acted correctly.”
“You’re damned right I’m angry,” Picard replied, more harshly than he had intended. In a softer voice he continued, “I knew the transporters were a risk, but I gave the order anyway. Those people would have died if I hadn’t tried, but there’s a part of me that’s already questioning the decision. Did I act too quickly? Was there another option I could have considered?”
“And was there?”
Picard shook his head. “No. Anything else would have taken too much time. Still, twenty-seven people died and I can’t help second-guessing myself.”
“I think we both know that your feelings are misplaced,” Troi said after a moment. “By doing nothing, you would have automatically sentenced those people to death, and it’s not in your nature to simply stand by and allow something like that to happen. You were compelled to act, and in a split second you made a life-or-death decision.”
Exhaling audibly, Picard replied, “There’s nothing grand about deciding on the only course of action available to you, Counselor.”
“No, but it takes courage to actually take that action, especially when you know that you might fail. Anyone can make easy choices, Captain, but it’s the true leaders who act on the difficult ones.”
Picard smiled at that. It was not a verbatim quote from one of the many leadership texts he had read while a student at Starfleet Academy, but it was close enough. He had no doubt that those same words, in some fashion or another, appeared in one or more of the volumes Troi had been required to study during her own training. After all, it made sense that a counselor would have to be familiar with the many factors that molded a leader if he or she was to provide thoughtful counsel to such individuals, did it not?
“However,” she continued, “I’ve seen you make hard decisions many times before, even when it entailed loss of life. Now, though, I sense something deeper about the frustration you’re feeling.”
Nodding, Picard smiled grimly. “Observant as always, Counselor.” Rising from the sofa, the captain moved to the replicator set into the wall on the other side of the room. “Tea, Earl Grey, hot.” When Troi shook her head at the offer of something to drink, he retrieved the cup and saucer that materialized before him and returned to his seat. Troi sat in silence, patiently waiting as he stirred the steaming beverage and took a tentative first sip. He knew that she would give him all the time he needed to reveal what was on his mind.
“It’s important to me that this mission be successful in every way,” he said finally. “Not for my own sake, mind you, but for that of the ship and the crew. Starfleet needs to see that they’ve made a mistake, and not because they elected to send us all the way out here. After all, contacting new civilizations is why I joined Starfleet in the first place. There’s no shame in being assigned a mission such as this, but I need for those in charge to understand that treating it as a punishment is wrong.”
“Admiral Nechayev doesn’t feel that way,” Troi countered. “She sees this as an opportunity for us to redeem ourselves in the eyes of Starfleet.”
“And that’s precisely the problem,” Picard said, setting his cup down on the table next to the sofa, the tea having abruptly lost its taste for him. “The crew shouldn’t have to redeem themselves for anything.” Sighing, he continued, “But there’s nothing to be done about that now. All that’s left is to make sure that the crew carries out this assignment, and the ones after it, in their usual exemplary manner. That includes me, and I can’t afford to make mistakes like the one I did today.”
He saw Troi opening her mouth to respond and held up a hand to stop her. “I know we’ve already discussed that, Counselor, and I will get past today’s events in time, but so many people are questioning whether I’m still capable of making the correct decision at the right time. On top of that, they’ve got me questioning myself.”
“Captain, it’s perfectly normal to question any decision, particularly the difficult ones,” Troi replied. “Leaders especially are obligated to examine their choices. In my opinion, it’s no different from what you’ve always done. That’s a good thing.”
Deep down, Picard knew that to be true, but it was still gratifying to hear such thoughts voiced by another. It went a long way toward easing the frustration and remorse he carried, as well as returning his focus to the mission that still lay before him.
If there was one thing Christine Vale hated more than a mission that had gone bad, it was the debriefing session that took place afterward.
“We were unable to retrieve the people caught in the decompression when the hull breached,” Captain Picard said from where he sat at the head of the table in the observation lounge. “Twenty-five of the Dokaalan died as a result of exposure.” Looking to Vale, he added, “Ensign Melorr and Ensign Graham were also lost. I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”
Vale had prepared herself for the worst even after hearing that the Enterprise had attempted to recover everyone blown into space from the outpost airlock. The grim news was still painful to hear, especially considering everything the away team had been through. It had not taken long for word to get around about Captain Picard’s daring yet disastrous attempt to rescue the decompression victims. Vale believed the captain had acted decisively and correctly, despite the results.
“Still,” Picard continued, “you and your team did an exceptional job under very trying circumstances. Well done, Lieutenant.”
After working his way back to the airlock, La Forge had coordinated with engineers on the Enterprise to reestablish a forcefield-protected conduit between the ship and the mining outpost. Thought not as stable as the original setup the chief engineer had devised, thanks to the damaged section of tunnel leading from the outpost, the jury-rigging had held long enough for Vale and her team to evacuate the remaining miners. They were all in the capable hands of Dr. Crusher and her medical staff, being treated in one of the seven cargo bays that had been reconfigured to provide the Dokaalan’s reduced gravity requirements.
“The surviving Dokaalan have asked that we accommodate their request for a gathering in accordance with their beliefs,” Picard said. “They have invited us to attend and wish to include a memorial for Ensign Melorr and Ensign Graham as well, to honor their sacrifice.”
That made Vale smile a bit. Despite the dreadful circumstances surrounding their first meeting, the Dokaalan were making the effort to show gratitude for the efforts of the Enterprise crew on their behalf.
Seated to Picard’s right at the table, Riker said, “In the meantime, we’ve sent a message to their main colony and center of authority with word that we’ve rescued their people. They haven’t responded to our hail, but sensors show three small ships navigating the asteroid field in our direction.”
“Any weapons?” Vale asked.
Leaning forward in his chair, La Forge replied, “Nothing our sensors picked up. Their technology is about two centuries behind us in most respects, even farther back in others. Unless they’ve got old-style nuclear warheads strapped to their ships and they somehow manage to fire one through our shields, I’d say we’re pretty safe.”
Vale nodded in relief at the report, noting as she did so that the engineer’s right hand still was encased in a portable dermal regene
rator. The device was working to restore skin tissue he had lost after inadvertently grabbing on to a pipe routing hot water through one of the mining outpost’s lowermost sections. Like Vale herself, La Forge had managed to convince Dr. Crusher not to keep them in sickbay if at all possible. With so many things happening aboard the ship at the moment, neither the head of security nor the chief engineer could afford to be out of action for any longer than was absolutely necessary.
“Mr. La Forge,” Picard said, “were you able to determine a cause for the reactor’s malfunction?”
La Forge replied, “To be honest, I’m confused, Captain, for several reasons. First, the condition of several of the reactor’s key components suggests that it was due to improper maintenance or maybe even negligence.”
Waving one hand in the direction of the lounge windows and the asteroid field beyond, Riker countered, “They’ve been living out here among these asteroids for over two hundred years. Maybe the reactor was just old and they’d run out of spare parts to keep it running properly? It could have just been a matter of time before the thing blew.”
“That could be,” the engineer said, “but compared to the rest of the place, it just doesn’t make sense. That outpost was as well maintained as any starbase I’ve seen. There’s something else, too. Based on the condition of the reactor when we found it and after figuring out the rate of heat and pressure buildup, Taurik was able to calculate how much time we had left before it overloaded, but it went early. Almost seven minutes early. While I don’t doubt that I could have made a mistake with those calculations, I don’t think Taurik could.”
Vale agreed. After all, Vulcans possessed far greater mental discipline than humans, particularly in the areas of mathematics and the memorization and recall of a wealth of information. Computing complex formulas without benefit of computer assistance presented as much difficulty to the typical Vulcan as remembering her security access code was for Vale.
Okay, bad example.
“Was there some sort of other systems failure you hadn’t anticipated?” Picard asked.
“Nothing we detected, Captain. So far as we know, we had enough time to get the rest of those people off safely.”
Her brow creasing in concern and not liking where her gut was taking her, Vale asked, “Are you suggesting this wasn’t an accident, Commander?”
Sighing, the engineer frowned and shook his head. “I really don’t know what to think. If these people have been out here all this time, then the only way they could’ve made it this far is by working together and trusting each other.”
“There may be internal political or other machinations at work within this community of which we are not aware,” Picard said. “For all we know, they may have splintered into factions and are openly at war with one another. We’ll have to proceed with due caution until we make contact with their representatives of authority and learn more.”
Nodding in agreement, Picard turned his attention back to Vale. “Lieutenant, have your people reported any problems with the Dokaalan miners we rescued?”
“No, sir,” Vale replied. “So far everything’s been uneventful. The Dokaalan have been surprisingly receptive, both to the care provided by Dr. Crusher and her team as well as to us, in general, I mean.”
She had not participated in many first-contact situations, but on each of those rare occasions the party being contacted had always expressed wonder and, yes, even awe at meeting a race of beings from another world. While the Dokaalan miners had responded with some of that same amazement, relief at being rescued had quickly eclipsed those initial reactions.
Now that they were safe aboard ship, however, the miners’ questions were starting to spill forth about who their benefactors were, where they came from, how far they had traveled, and so on. It was actually quite uplifting to see the happiness on the faces of the Dokaalan. She hoped the rest of the community would be as receptive to the Enterprise’s arrival as this group had been.
“Bridge to Captain Picard,” Data’s voice interrupted the conference via the ship’s intercom, “the three Dokaalan vessels are approaching our position. Estimated time to rendezvous is three point six minutes.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Picard replied as he rose from his chair. “I’m on my way.” To the officers assembled around the conference table he said, “Meeting adjourned. Thank you all. Number One and Lieutenant Vale with me, please.”
Here we go, Vale thought as she fell in behind Commander Riker and headed for the bridge. As she moved to her tactical station, she looked to the main viewscreen and saw three ships arranged in a tight triangular formation with each of the vessels on the same horizontal plane. She guessed the configuration to be effective for navigating the asteroid field.
As for the ships themselves, they were spare and utilitarian in design, essentially rectangular in shape with a pair of engine bells mounted at their rear. With the viewer’s current magnification and resolution Vale could actually see the rivets holding the hull plates together. What looked to be a cockpit was the most prominent feature of each vessel’s front, and she could also see people moving inside the transparent canopies.
“Hail them, Lieutenant,” Picard ordered.
Vale entered the necessary commands and replied, “Channel open, sir.”
A moment later, the image on the viewer changed from the three ships to that of an aged Dokaalan. Standing stoop-shouldered, his withered and pale blue skin etched with uncounted wrinkles, he was dressed in regal robes, richly colored in maroon and gold, which hung loosely from his emaciated frame.
“My name is Jean-Luc Picard,” the captain said, “of the Federation Starship Enterprise. We come in peace on a mission of exploration.”
The Dokaalan’s features brightened at the introduction. “So it is true then. Our message from long ago has at last been answered.” Bowing formally to Picard, he added, “Greetings. I am Hjatyn, first minister to the people of Dokaa.”
Chapter Seventeen
Translated from the personal journal of Hjatyn:
FOR THE FIRST TIME in many years, my hand is shaking as I write this. I am actually nervous!
I know that my upcoming inauguration as first minister should be a time of celebration, not discomfort. Were Beeliq here, she would surely tell me the same thing.
While I have served the people of Dokaal in many capacities during my life, this is by far the most important position I have ever entered. In another time and place, a first minister would have commanded prestige and even celebrity, but those times are long gone. Now it is above all else a position of immense trust and, perhaps more importantly, of hope.
As I have written in these pages before, I did not set out to be a leader, at least not in any official capacity. I realize that my role as a teacher placed me in a position of leadership, but that was in the context of molding young minds with the knowledge they would need to succeed in their own lives. Though I had always believed that to be a noble goal, I never held any illusions that my influence would extend much beyond those few precious hours in the classroom.
That all changed when Dokaal was destroyed, of course. One of the first things realized by those of us who escaped the tragedy was that in almost every way, life as we knew it had ended just as it had for those we were forced to leave behind. If we were to have any chance of survival, we would be required to examine every aspect of our existence and make whatever alterations were required for the greater good.
As for myself, I have my wife to thank for my change in thinking.
The constant growth and change within the colonies brought with it all manner of challenges. New communities formed among the different settlements, some based on the various nation-states that once comprised Dokaal as well as other factions created out of the necessity to share resources and facilities. Beeliq wasted no time wading into the quagmire that was to become the new guiding force of our people, taking on the role of liaison for our group. Her former position as assistant to our col
ony’s administrator gave her a voice already known to those bearing the mantle of leadership, and she used it to great advantage. Every day, she and her peers worked to insure that the citizens and their concerns did not become lost in the ongoing shuffle merely to survive out here. She took the concerns of the people she represented directly to the seats of power, lobbying for better living conditions and better use of our resources.
When colony procedures called for the selection of new group liaisons, my wife was chosen time and again, usually as the result of a nearly unanimous vote. Even when she contracted her illness and her health began to deteriorate, she refused to step down from the position I and others had entrusted to her. I tried to help her as best I could by assisting her in carrying out her responsibilities, and along the way I managed to learn the ins and outs of the constantly evolving politics of our new society while earning the confidence of those my wife represented.
It was a confidence that was sorely tested when Beeliq’s illness finally took her from me. Though she had left a void that could never be filled, not only in my life but in our community as well, many felt it appropriate for me to carry on in my wife’s stead. I was hesitant, unconvinced that I would be able to perform at the same level as she had, but the faith of those she had once led ultimately overcame my uncertainty.
I am grateful for that support, which has remained resolute over the years as I found myself taking on even more duties and rising to higher levels in the new government. Without that trust and confidence, I would never have been able to advance from representative to a member of the Zahanzei Council, to say nothing of the office I am about to enter today.
Were she here, I have no doubt that Beeliq would be the one about to assume this most awesome of responsibilities. Fate has conspired to prevent that from happening, instead leaving me to take on the work for which my wife seemed destined. I can only hope that, as I pledge to exercise my new authority to the best of my ability and with the well-being of all my fellow Dokaalan as my foremost priority, her strength and passion will continue to guide me.
