Encounter at Farpoint (2 page)

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 starship 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 ship 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.

J
EAN
-L
UC
P
ICARD
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-class starship was a far cry from Picard’s first command, the Starfleet exploration and research vessel
Stargazer
. She was even farther from the Constitution-class starship 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 ship’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 ship 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 starships in the fleet—but the eight hundred included scientists and technicians of many types. The actual ship’s operation crew was probably no larger than that aboard the old Constitution-class starships. There were also some two hundred noncrew aboard—spouses and children. That fact made Picard uncomfortable. The longer voyages of ten to fifteen years that Starfleet had decreed for the Galaxy-class ships made it inherent that starship 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 ship’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 circumstance—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 space. 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 spacefaring, 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 starships that plied the vast depths of space. 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 analysis 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 space 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 ship’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 ship’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’?”

Picard blinked in surprise. “Data, how can you be programmed as a virtual encyclopedia of human information without knowing a simple word like
snoop?
”

The android paused briefly, and Picard could imagine him instantaneously scanning his prodigious memory banks. “Possibilities. A kind of human behavior I was not designed to emulate. Or a term of English vernacular I have not yet encountered. I believe it to be an archaic form. . . .” Data trailed off, frowning to himself.

“It means ‘to spy . . . to sneak,’ ” Picard began lightly.

“Ah!” Data interrupted in delight. “To seek covertly, to go stealthily, to slink, to slither. . . .”

“Close enough—” said Picard, holding up a hand to halt the rest of Data’s recitation.

Troi began to smile and she tried to suppress it.

“To glide, creep, skulk,” Data continued enthusiastically. “Pussyfoot, gumshoe . . .” He trailed off, suddenly aware of the look of annoyance on the captain’s face. “I understand now, sir. Thank you.”

Picard opened his mouth to explain to Data that Starfleet expected him to function as something more than simply an animated thesaurus, but before he could speak, Troi gasped behind him.

She clutched at herself and nearly toppled to the floor. “Captain—”

Picard turned quickly to look at her. Troi was convulsed as if by an intense physical pain. She looked as if her mind were being
seared
. “Captain!” she gasped. “I’m sensing . . . a
powerful
presence. . . .”

“Source?” Picard snapped.

Troi blindly shook her head, unable to answer. The mental hold was loosed abruptly as a bridge alarm went off. Troi weakly slumped in her chair as the bridge complement scanned their consoles, puzzled and concerned by their readings. Data moved quickly to the console at the science position and studied the panel.

Worf frowned over his console. “Something strange on the detector circuits, sir.”

His voice was drowned out by a second bridge alarm that honked loudly and demandingly. At the same time, the huge main screen at the front of the bridge flickered. The view of space ahead suddenly altered. Picard involuntarily caught his breath as a shining, sparkling grid appeared, stretching across the whole of space ahead of them. It seemed impossibly huge, but also as delicate as a spiderweb, composed of interlocking geometric shapes.

Data looked up from his console, his face only slightly perturbed—as much alarm as the android ever displayed. “The object registers as solid, Captain. Or as an incredibly powerful force field. But if we collide with either—”

Picard nodded and turned to Lieutenant Torres, the officer at the conn position beside Worf. “Go to Condition Yellow. And shut off that damned noise.”

Torres’ hands danced on the console, and the irritating honking alarm cut off. “Condition Yellow, sir.”

“Shields and deflectors up, sir,” Worf snapped. Tasha Yar had reached the comm tab on her console and tapped in a signal. She looked expectantly toward the forward turbolift.

Picard glanced quickly at the screen where the glittering grid loomed larger and clearer as the
Enterprise
approached. Then he shifted in his chair and said almost conversationally. “Full stop.”

“Aye, sir,” Torres responded.

On the viewscreen, the shimmering net of energy seemed impossibly close. The
Enterprise
was still nearly a light-minute distant.

“Full stop, sir—”

Suddenly, the crackling, roaring power of a lightning strike flashed across the bridge. A searing, blinding flash of light poured out of a hole in space next to Picard. Instinctively, the bridge personnel backed away from it, shielding their eyes.