STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION: SHORE LEAVE

Chapter One: Long Overdue

Captain Jean-Luc Picard flexed his hands tiredly. He stared daydreamily at them, a sense of ageing creeping up on him. He could remember a time when these hands appeared strong, muscular, and manly. The skin was smooth and fit, the markings upon them crisp and clear. Though now his hands were wrinkled and looked far older. The skin appeared no longer fit, rather, "baggy" and worn-down. The markings were now faded, his fingers thin and spindly. He sighed exapseratedly. They even felt old.

"Captain?" said a familiar voice to his left. He looked up, torn from his trance, and turned to see the precious, gorgeous features of the ship's counselor, Deanna Troi. "Captain, are you all right?"

Picard flashed a fake smile and nodded, though he knew it to be in futility. The Betazoid, while being able to sense emotions, knew him well enough anyways; she could tell something the matter and would persist till he opened up. "Yes, of course," he said in a false-happy tone and turned to face in front of him. A dull, gray, lined wall appeared before him. "Data," he said, signaling the pale-skinned android at ops to turn around in his seat, awaiting his orders, "put something on the main viewer. That wall is depressing."

"Aye, sir," came the once-monotonous, once-robotic, now humanized voice. He punched up a view of the stars streaming past on the viewscreen and returned to manning his station. "Is that satisfactory?" he asked.

"No," Picard said agitatedly, a bit harder than he had at first intended. Commander William T. Riker now took notice and exchanged a meaningful glance with Lieutenant-Commander Worf. Though you'd think it would be, he thought. "No, never mind, Data. I'll be in my ready-room."

"Aye, sir," Data said. "Notify me whence we arrive," Picard instructed him. Data made a mental note in his positronic brain – a note that would never, in his entire life, be forgotten, unless consciously wiped.

Picard swiveled around pointlessly in his chair, bored and frustrated, a combination that didn't fit well together. He knew, since he left the bridge, that Deanna would not be far behind. He wasn't even sure he wished her to join him, but knew she would and that was enough to convince him to talk.

To his pleasure (both at being right and having her there), the sweet toor-tweet, reminiscient of old doorbells, sounded, he barked, "Come in!" and in she walked.

The new uniforms are really not much an improvement over the old, Picard thought bitterly. The old uniforms were fully-colored and black, while these were only colored around the neck, a dull gray and black everywhere else. It really was not something he enjoyed wearing, much preferring the older uniforms, though they were now a thing of the past, as so many things were. New ship, new uniform.

"Captain," Troi said in a very calm tone, "you seem very distant."

"Well," he said, slightly annoyed, "you can read my emotions, so why bother asking me if I'm okay and just say you know something's troubling me, damnit!"

Troi took a step back in surprise. The captain had never barked at her like that before. His expression changed to one of regret. He sighed heavily. "Look, Deanna, I'm sorry. I'm just, under a lot of stress. That's a--." He was about to say "that's all", but paused. "No, that's not all. Deanna, I feel old. And not like I'm letting myself get out of shape old, or my back's hurting old. Just old. I'm well past my prime and, while I've managed to keep a good hold on youthful qualities, they're slipping away, and I'm helpless to stop them."

Deanna walked farther in and sat down on his couch, prompting him to do the same. When he did, she said, "You know, Captain, age can be a wonderful thing if you let it." Picard made a noise as if he didn't believe her. "No really, it can. Getting older increases wisdom, and is just another wonderful stage in life. Life for most sentient beings, humans in particular, is set in stages. Infancy to toddlery, then from childhood to teenagery. And from teenagery to your prime, and from your prime to midlife. And after midlife is the gentle stage of eldery. All stages have their merits and all stages have their faults. True, this is commonly seen as the final stage of life, but one that can be worthwhile if lived embracingly. And I'm not entirely convinced you are elderly. I think you feel this way simply because you have tried so hard to hold on to your prime and never fully embraced midlife. Do so, and know that one day you will be an old man and no matter how far or close it is, don't worry about it. You're one of the greatest, most admirable, and respectable man I've ever known and those qualities are not only accessible to men in their prime."

Picard smiled and sighed. "Oh, I suppose you're right. Nevertheless, I wish I was younger."

Deanna patted him gently on the thigh. "You know, I'm ordering you to put in at the nearest starbase for shore leave. The whole crew is in desperate need of it and I'm sure Geordi and Data can find a legitimate technical reason why we need dock."

Picard pursed his lips in thought. After a while, he spoke. "Yes, that should be possible. We have no major duties to fulfill. Yes, I think I'll do that." He tapped his comm badge. "Number One," he said into the silence.

William Riker's voice came in through the badge. "Yes, sir?"

"Tell me, what is the nearest starbase?"

"Umm, Starbase… actually Deep Space Six is closest, sir."

Picard exchanged the briefest of looks with Deanna before answering. "That'll be fine, number one. Put in for… two weeks of shore leave, I think. Yes, that should do. Have Geordi and Data run a complete diagnostic on the ship, a piece-by-piece breakdown. I want at least ten legitimate reasons why we need this shore leave other than psychological."

"Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?"

"Until another time. Picard out." Well, he thought before continuing a discussion with Deanna, if anything, this should be fun. Well deserved and long overdue.