Encounter At Farpoint Part 1

Encounter at Farpoint.

by David Gerrold.

Prologue.

THE FIRST TIME Captain Jean-Luc Picard saw the stars.h.i.+p Enterprise he was struck by the sleekness of her lines. It felt right to him that a s.h.i.+p of that size and power should also be beautiful as well.

Why shouldn't stars.h.i.+ps be a demonstration of art as well as strength?

The third time Captain Jean-Luc Picard saw the stars.h.i.+p Enterprise, he saw it from a different angle and he realized the designer's private joke. A quiet, almost unnoticeable smile played across his otherwise stony visage. Stars.h.i.+ps were always "she"-but this one was more feminine than most. For some reason, he liked the thought. Maybe later he would think about it some more and wonder why.

Since the death of Celeste, he hadn't let himself think too much about relations.h.i.+ps.

The seventh time Captain Jean-Luc Picard saw the Enterprise he was on his way to take command of her.

The tradition was that the new captain of a vessel always arrived by shuttlecraft so that he could be piped aboard. This tradition was nearly a hundred years old, and dated back to the time when the legendary Admiral James T. Kirk took command of the original Enterprise. (Not many people remembered that he had only boarded by shuttle because of a major transporter malfunction at the time.) Picard wasn't a superst.i.tious man, but this was the Enterprise and it wouldn't be appropriate to ignore a tradition that had begun on the first stars.h.i.+p to bear that name.

The first time that Jean-Luc Picard walked the corridors of the new Enterprise he was struck by the newness of everything. It was as if this s.h.i.+p were somehow not yet alive, not yet real. That feeling would vanish quickly, he knew, but just the same he found it slightly unsettling.

He had been piped aboard by the android- "Data?" he had asked. As if there was any doubt. The android had opalescent-gold skin and eyes so yellow they seemed to be lit from within. Its-his- hair was slicked straight back in an efficient, but somewhat unattractive style.

The android acknowledged its name with a nod and saluted.

Picard hesitated, then returned the salute. Formal salutes were one of those traditions that Starfleet was ambiguous about. Were they appropriate for a non-military s.p.a.ce fleet? Were they an homage to the heritage of centuries of s.p.a.ce travel and sea exploration before that? He appreciated the formal ritual, but he despised something of what it implied.

This moment-the first moment aboard a s.h.i.+p-was always uncomfortable. Picard glanced around at the honor guard standing stiffly and decided deliberately to break the stiffness. He held out his hand to Data. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. I've been studying your record. It's extraordinary."

"Thank you, sir."

Picard noticed that the android's hand was curiously cool, too cool to be real. An odd sensation, Picard mused. Later, he would have to ask Data about its-his-background.

"The bridge is this way, sir."

"Thank you. May I ask you something, Commander?"

"Sir?"

"Your name? Data."

"It's self-chosen, sir. I love knowledge. Indeed, I am knowledge. This body is merely a container.

Who I really am is the sum total of what is stored in the vessel. What better identifier for me?"

Data's pleasant smile was disconcerting.

Picard nodded. It made sense.

The first time Captain Jean-Luc Picard stepped onto the bridge of the stars.h.i.+p Enterprise, he was struck by how bare it looked. The contrast with the old Stargazer was startling.

There were only three officers on the bridge. It felt undermanned. They stood up to face the captain as he entered. Picard recognized Worf, the Klingon. It would have been impossible not to recognize him. The others he would meet soon enough.

He stepped down off the horseshoe at the rear of the bridge and crossed to the captain's chair. There was an air of expectancy in the room. Captain Jean-Luc Picard sat down in the chair and asked himself if he was comfortable here. The answer was yes.

"Computer?"

"Yes?"

"Can you identify me?"

"Voiceprint a.n.a.lysis indicates that you are Captain Jean-Luc Picard, a.s.signed to take command of the stars.h.i.+p Enterprise, NCC-1701-D, this date."

"I am now a.s.suming command."

"So noted," said the computer.

"Activate log."

"Recording."

Picard cleared his throat. "Stardate 41150.7. Captain's log. First entry: These are the voyages of the stars.h.i.+p Enterprise. Her continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no one has gone before. Entry complete."

Picard looked around at his officers. Their faces were beaming. Abruptly, they applauded.

Picard was embarra.s.sed, and held up a hand to stop them. "Belay that until we do something worthy of applause."

And then he retreated to his office.

He was pleased that his aquarium had already been installed. The lionfish were his only vice. They were beautiful to watch. He sat down behind his desk and installed his personal memory cartridge in the desk's reader. The s.h.i.+p's computer now had Picard's personal files available to it.

"I have messages for you, sir." The computer said softly.

Picard glanced at the desk screen. Most of the messages were congratulatory notes. Two of them were tagged with Starfleet Insignia. One was his formal orders. The other message was sealed orders and could not be decoded until the s.h.i.+p was enroute to Farpoint Station. There was also a personal message from Admiral Hidalgo.

Jean-Luc Picard was not a man for self-doubt, but... the stars.h.i.+p Enterprise was the jewel of the fleet. There was no greater responsibility that a captain could be entrusted with. To be named captain of the Enterprise was an honor, an acknowledgment, and- -and what?

There was a story, probably apocryphal, that James T. Kirk had once said that captaining the Enterprise was like making love in a fish bowl. You couldn't make a move without someone voicing an opinion about your technique. The statement sounded like something James T. Kirk might have said, but then again, there were more stories about James T. Kirk in circulation than twenty men could have lived up to-even if they had each had a Vulcan to a.s.sist them.

But... there was something else that disturbed Jean-Luc Picard.

This was to be the pinnacle of his career; the posting he had waited nearly twenty years to achieve.

He wondered if he would be able to handle this-or if he might blow it. There had been other captains who had been entrusted with great responsibilities; good, kind, compa.s.sionate men and women who should have succeeded-and had not. Picard had studied their records, looking for that one failing that might have been common to all, looking to see if that failing was present in himself.

The only thing he had realized was the possibility of hubris, the pride that brings its own downfall.

Each of the failures had been caused by the captain's blind faith in his or her own rightness. As a result, they had become rigid, inflexible. Brittle.

Picard shook his head. The thought had been troubling him lately. He reached over and tapped the message screen. Better see what Admiral Hidalgo had to say.

"You've already had my congratulations, Jean-Luc. Now it's time for a little motherly advice."

Picard smiled at that. He hadn't had any motherly or fatherly advice from anyone since his fortieth birthday.

Hidalgo's message continued: "I know you, Jean-Luc. You've probably been sitting there at your desk wondering if you're big enough to handle the responsibilities of the Enterprise. Trust me. You are."

Hidalgo's broad face broke into a warm grin. Despite her age, the woman was still beautiful.

"I know you, Jean-Luc. I know that you think you worry too much. You think stars.h.i.+p captains shouldn't worry or doubt. You think because you do that you're not a good captain. Well, now let me explain something to you, Jean-Luc. This isn't self-doubt that you're feeling. It's self-confirmation. You're going over your own decisions again to see if there's anything you've overlooked, left out, or ignored.

"That's why we selected you-or perhaps I should say that's how you selected yourself for the post.

You always go the extra kilometer to be certain that you haven't made a mistake. That's why you've succeeded as a Starfleet officer. That's why we cherish your judgment. That's why you've been entrusted with the best s.h.i.+p in the fleet.

"And the best crew. We've given you people to be proud of. They all have extraordinary records. Use them. Trust them. Let them be the best they can. They won't let you down."

"Oh, one more thing." She added, "You're probably wondering now how I guessed that you'd be having these thoughts."

Picard grinned. Maybe it was true. Maybe Admiral Hidalgo was telepathic.

"It's no secret at all, Jean-Luc. Every captain goes through it whenever he takes command of a new vessel. I have to send this message to all my captains." She laughed. "Now let me tell you the secret of how to handle the most difficult moments of command. Always think about the very worst thing that can happen. And then don't let it happen.

"Our hearts are with you, Jean-Luc. We know you'll do well."

Picard switched off the desk screen, leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.

Chapter One.

JEAN-LUC PICARD quickly stopped counting how many times he stepped onto the bridge of the Enterprise.

But with each new visit, he grew to love it more. The look of it, the sound of it, the smell of it.

The soft murmur of the crew behind him, the occasional voices from the computers; he could sense the well-being of the entire vessel through those sounds alone.

Right now, they were satisfied sounds.

The huge Galaxy-cla.s.s stars.h.i.+p was a far cry from Picard's first command, the Starfleet exploration and research vessel Stargazer. She was even farther from the Const.i.tution-cla.s.s stars.h.i.+p that had first borne the designation NCC-1701 and the name Enterprise.

Picard's practiced eyes glanced quickly over the bridge, noting the efficiency and smooth interaction of the duty complement. Lieutenant Natasha Yar was frowning at something on her console. The Weapons Control and Tactical Station was built into the raised horseshoe behind the captain's chair.

Tasha was one of the most physically perfect young women Picard had ever seen. She was not especially beautiful-not beautiful in the way Celeste had been beautiful, but then few women were beautiful in the way that Celeste had been beautiful. Nevertheless, Tasha was a striking woman, with piercing green eyes and a short burr of honey-blond hair.

The big Klingon lieutenant, Worf, was seated at the s.h.i.+p's operations station at the front of the bridge. His Klingon heritage was a source of great pride to him, and Picard had already noticed that the young officer still had some difficulty learning how to temper his natural aggression.

Apparently, Worf still tended to consider himself a soldier first.

Picard smiled at the thought. Worf had a lot to learn. Yet there was a Starfleet adage: "Any military operation is automatically a failure." It meant that the captain of the s.h.i.+p had failed in his duty as a peace-keeper. There was a counter-adage as well: "The most expensive army in the world is the one that's second-best." Even in the twenty-fourth-and-a-half century, the debate about military readiness was still a troubling one.

The Enterprise had a larger crew complement than any of the other stars.h.i.+ps in the fleet-but the eight hundred included scientists and technicians of many types. The actual s.h.i.+p's operation crew was probably no larger than that aboard the old Const.i.tution-cla.s.s stars.h.i.+ps. There were also some two hundred non-crew aboard-spouses and children. That fact made Picard uncomfortable. The longer voyages of ten to fifteen years that Starfleet had decreed for the Galaxy-cla.s.s s.h.i.+ps made it inherent that stars.h.i.+p crews bring families with them. Picard had never had to deal with such a situation before, and the idea of civilians, especially children, on board frankly bothered him.

It was something he would have liked to have discussed with his first officer-except that he did not have a first officer in place yet. They would be taking 'on the last of the s.h.i.+p's complement at Farpoint Station, including the chief medical officer and the new Number One.

Picard had read over the record of his first officer several times, trying to get a sense of the man.

Commander William T. Riker, thirty-two years old, most recently first officer of the U.S.S. Hood from which he would be transferring to the Enterprise. His service record was nearly impeccable, and he had advanced to the position of first officer relatively early in his career, which implied ambition as well as ability. If anything, Riker's record was a little too perfect. The man had never had to deal with the consequences of a mistake. Failure was relatively unknown to him. Picard wondered if Riker would be able to handle a disastrous circ.u.mstance-or would his self-confidence be irretrievably shattered? Despite all the simulations and tests and interviews, you never knew until it was too late whether a man was ready for responsibility or not.

Well, he would find out soon enough-when they reached Farpoint Station. Picard prided himself on his ability to manage people. He felt it came from his willingness to listen to, to empathize with, the other person's perceptions. He wanted to like this fellow Riker.

Farpoint Station-that was another puzzle. The planet was on the farthest edge of explored s.p.a.ce. The first contact team that had beamed down to the harsh surface of the world had found the Bandi, an ancient and much diminished race, living in the one city that still remained to them. Although not s.p.a.cefaring, the Bandi appeared to have a sophisticated technology that allowed them to live in luxury while they pursued knowledge, arts and crafts. The contact team had not reported much about how the Bandi city ran, except that they had an abundance of geothermal energy. The Bandi had been otherwise evasive about their technology. Their senior official, Groppler Zorn, had been fascinated by the concept of Starfleet and the mighty stars.h.i.+ps that plied the vast depths of s.p.a.ce. He had questioned the contact team extensively and finally made a startling promise. The Bandi would build a modern port and staging station on their planet if Starfleet would establish regular trade.

That had been sixteen months ago. Farpoint Station, an incredibly complex and advanced facility was now reported to be finished and waiting to serve interstellar vessels. Starfleet's best a.n.a.lysis teams did not know how the Bandi had managed it.

Picard's sealed orders were simple. Find out.

How did they do it? How could an apparently nonindustrial, pastoral society design, construct and activate the most advanced base in known s.p.a.ce in such a short time? There was no question that Starfleet wanted to use the station, but first Starfleet wanted answers.

That could mean an extensive stay at Farpoint. The most recent surveillance team had come back knowing only as much as they had begun with. The official contact teams had produced equally fruitless results, even after months of intensive surveys. Picard would have to do better.

"Difficult," Picard murmured half aloud.

"Pardon, sir?"

Picard looked up.

His second officer, Data, was peering at him; his luminous yellow eyes were bright with curiosity.

"Starfleet's instructions. I was thinking aloud. I was thinking that will be difficult to implement.

Don't you agree, Data?"

"How so, sir? Simply solve the mystery of Farpoint Station."

From Picard's left, Lieutenant Commander Deanna Troi leaned forward and smiled gently at Data. "As simple as that." The s.h.i.+p's counselor's voice was softly musical and lightly accented. As a half-Betazoid, she had inherited the ability to communicate telepathically with Betazoids, but her telepathic communications with other species were limited to being able to feel their projected emotions. Some she could not "feel" at all. She had learned to speak from her human father, and the gentle cadences of her speech patterns were soothing. She discerned early that people wanted to share themselves with her, and they listened to what she had to say. That fact had been one of the reasons she had chosen her profession. As personal advisor to the captain, she served in a liaison capacity as a translator, a buffer, a counselor between him, his crew, the s.h.i.+p's complement, and the life forms at their many points of call.

Picard smiled at her comment. "Yes, Data. Perhaps you see it as simply a puzzle to be solved. I see it as a problem in logistics, strategy, and diplomacy as well. The problem, Data, is that another life form built that base. How do I negotiate a friendly agreement for Starfleet to use it as a staging station and at the same time snoop around trying to find out how and why they built it? How do we do it without offending them?"

Data frowned slightly. "Query. The word 'snoop'?"