Captain's Glory

19

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE, SECTOR 001

STARDATE 58567.2

“He is not slowing,” Worf growled as he moved from the center chair.

Picard remained standing, studying the viewscreen. The Belle Reve was twelve minutes out but little more than a smudge of white on the screen, even at maximum enlargement. Tactical sensors showed it closing at warp nine point two. He wasn’t certain what kind of engine could produce that factor in such a small ship. But then, that was the idea behind its unique design: surprise and misdirection.

Picard glanced over at Lieutenant Leybenzon at tactical. “Hail the Belle Reve.”

The young officer acknowledged the order with military crispness, and a moment later the viewscreen switched to an interior view of the small starship’s bridge.

In the center of the image, on a blocky, black command chair that to Picard looked antique, sat James T. Kirk. He wore civilian clothing, but for the calm assurance he projected, it might as well have been a Starfleet uniform.

“Jean-Luc,” Kirk said in greeting.

“Jim,” Picard answered.

Kirk smiled. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

Picard momentarily looked to the side as he heard turbolift doors open. Deanna Troi hurried out, escorted by three guards. She had agreed to Picard’s request to return to his crew for the duration of the current emergency; as the flagship for the embargo mission, the Enterprise was in need of the most experienced counselor in the system. Picard knew he was lucky to have her.

“Like what?” Picard asked.

“With the odds against us and the situation grim.”

Picard returned Kirk’s smile, remembering their first face-to-face meeting, ten years ago at Veridian. Kirk had said the same words then as now.

But Picard knew Kirk wasn’t making idle conversation, nor was it Kirk’s nature to dwell in the past. He had chosen his words carefully and deliberately to let Picard know that he was Jim Kirk.

Unfortunately, in a universe where telepathy was a given, Starfleet demanded more than shared knowledge to confirm identity.

“Jim,” Picard said, “Worf tells me he briefed you on the current state of emergency that Starfleet’s declared.”

“Shapechangers.”

“Exactly,” Picard confirmed, pleased. Kirk was never one to talk around a subject. “The nature of the enemy we’re facing is such that a new series of identification protocols has been established.”

“Understandable,” Kirk said. “I’ve seen what these creatures are capable of.”

That revelation took Picard by surprise.

“You’ve encountered them?”

“I believe Vulcan is now under their control.”

Reflexively, Picard looked to Troi, tapped the audio control on the arm of his chair to prevent what she might say from being transmitted.

She looked stricken, almost fearful. “He’s telling the truth as he believes it. And at his core, he’s troubled.”

Picard turned his attention back to the screen, enabled audio again. “Clearly, we have a great deal to discuss.”

Again, Kirk got to the point. “Not today, Jean-Luc. I’m not stopping until I get to Earth.”

Picard knew there was nothing to be gained by confronting Kirk so quickly. The Belle Reve was still eight minutes out.

“May I ask why?” Picard inquired.

Kirk stretched back in his chair, looked thoughtful. “Let’s just say the concerns you have about me not being who I appear to be… it works both ways.”

Picard understood. He raised his hand to show Kirk his wrist monitor. “That’s why we wear these,” he explained. “When our ships rendezvous, we’ll beam you over. That’ll enable us to compare your cellular and genetic structure with our identification files. Once that’s done, you’ll receive a monitor like this that can be scanned continuously, establishing what they call somatic continuity, so we can’t be replaced by a shapechanger.”

Kirk remained noncommittal. “Sounds complicated enough to be a Starfleet plan.”

Picard heard Troi speak softly, telling him what he already knew. “He’s not convinced.”

Picard tried another tack. “Jim, if you can’t be certain that I’m who I say I am, why do you think it’ll be easier on Earth? If the Enterprise has been taken over by shapechangers, why not all of Starfleet Command?”

“It’s easier to take over a ship than a planet.” Kirk glanced to the side. “My sensors show your warp drive is offline, so to be where you are now, you’ve been away from Earth for two or three days at least. A lot can happen in that time.”

Picard was again surprised that the little ship’s sensors could detect the condition of the Enterprise’s warp drive at its current distance. He cut the audio, looked over at the tactical station.

“Lieutenant, call up the specifications for the Belle Reve.”

The security officer didn’t look up from his console. “Aye, sir.”

Picard turned back to the screen, enabled audio again. “Jim, two years ago, you remember that vacation we tried to take?”

“We’ll have to do it again, sometime.”

“In the desert, we spoke about risk.”

Kirk’s benign expression changed as his eyes narrowed. Picard hoped he was thinking back to their adventure on Bajor.

After a few moments, Kirk nodded thoughtfully. “I remember.”

“By now you’ve scanned the system’s defensive perimeter. You know what you’re facing. And even in the Belle Reve, you have no chance of getting through. What you’re going to attempt, that’s my definition of risk, Jim. It’s not worth the gamble.”

Kirk tapped a control on his chair arm, and the image on the viewscreen changed from one of Kirk to a wide-angle view of the entire bridge.

“Since we’re both being paranoid,” Kirk said, “and can’t be sure who else might be listening, here’s my entire crew. Do you see who’s missing?”

Picard recognized Montgomery Scott and Leonard McCoy, exactly as he would expect to find on any ship Kirk commanded. But he was puzzled to also see an Emergency Medical Hologram at the tactical console.

As for who was missing, Picard didn’t know. Ambassador Spock had disappeared a year ago and, in any event, was never a member of the Belle Reve’s crew.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Picard confessed.

“Remember little Melis,” Kirk said evenly.

“He’s doubting your identity,” Troi whispered.

Picard tried to place the name… Melis… Melis…”The little girl.” He remembered her now. A Bajoran child afflicted with F’relorn’s disease. It was caused by environmental toxins left by the Cardassian Occupation. But why was Kirk invoking her memory now?

“I had a difference of agreement with the Prophets,” Kirk said.

“Captain,” Troi said quietly, “he’s not interested in your memories of the past. He’s probing how you think.”

Picard understood at once. It was entirely possible that the shapechangers attacking the Federation had the ability to extract information from the beings they impersonated, so they could answer any question about that being’s past, know every secret.

But how a person thought, that was a dynamic function of mind and spirit, and Kirk was attempting to see if the Picard he spoke to was the real captain, and not just a duplicate with all of Picard’s memories.

And then Picard had it-what Kirk was trying to tell him.

On Bajor, the mother of the stricken child had believed that the illness was the will of the Prophets, that the child was being punished for her father’s transgressions.

The sins of the father… Picard thought.

Kirk had somehow cured the child, though he had insisted he had merely delivered her into the hands of the Prophets.

But the story was enough for Picard to understand Kirk’s question.

“Joseph,” Picard said. And in Kirk’s eyes he saw the rest of this story, the revelation of what drove Kirk now.

Kirk spoke the terrible words no father should ever be forced to say. “I left him behind.”

Picard knew then there was nothing he could say or do to change Kirk’s mind.

If Joseph was on Vulcan, the only possible reason Kirk could have for traveling to Earth was because he believed it was the only way to save his son.

“Jim, rendezvous with the Enterprise. Let me help.”

A haunted expression came to Kirk then, as if something Picard had said meant something other than he had intended.

“I can’t.”

“I’m under orders, Jim. I’ll have to stop you.”

Kirk held his hand over a control on his chair.

“You can try.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Kirk was about to say something more, but at last, all he added was, “Kirk out.”

The viewscreen changed to an image of the Belle Reve, coming closer.

There was nothing more Picard could do.

“Battle stations,” he ordered.